Tale of A Fed Up Authoress
by Subservient Revolutionary
Summary: Just another self insertive phic. CC, your's truly, is a second generation phan who decides it's time to give Erik some serious love advise. At first the Phantom resists her efforts, but he soon learns that if her demands are not met...well you know
1. A Glorious Word

**Chapter 1: A Glorious Word**

"Nooooooooo!" C.C. cried, startling her two siamese cats as she pelted the TV with a fistful of extra butter popcorn. If she took any notice of Spike and Ayesha streaking out of the room she didn't show it as she continued to stream insults at the television.

"No...Don't do it...Keep the damn doll COVERED! And while we're at it, why did you go and KIDNAP her in the first place? You're such an idiot! A _hot_ idiot, but...Uhhh!"

C.C. had grown up with The Phantom of the Opera. Her mom had always been a devoted phan girl and made sure to pass on her obsess... er, passion to her only daughter. Some of C.C.'s oldest memories included Michael Crawford's voice and Lon Chaney's emphatic gesturing. She absolutely loved anything Phantom, but through the years she had never ceased to be annoyed and disgusted by Erik's train wreck attempts to woo Christine. It was an opinion she never failed to vocalize every time she was alone in the house with her cats and her 2-disk Special Edition of Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera.

"Oh. My. Hugh! What are you doing? Where the _hell _did you learn your moves? The Psycho Stalker's Guide to Courting Chicks? I swear if I was there right now I'd..."

C.C. stopped suddenly as an idea struck her. (And rather painfully she might add.) As she went to throw another fistful of popcorn her hand hit the desk, this sent her composition notebook hurtling towards her head with deadly accuracy. Having been suddenly bashed over the head with inspiration, C.C. leapt to her feet and sprinted towards her bedroom as a single, glorious word entered her mind. Flinging herself at her desk, C.C. jabbed the power button on her laptop with all the force of a rampaging elephant with PMS.

There was a way to fix everything. A way to change Erik and Christine's relationship from one of those I-Know-A-Twisted-Terrible-Wreck-Is-Coming-But-I-Can't-Help-But-Watch-With-Sick-Fascination kind of disasters. All would be made well with the use of one glorious word:

Phanphiction.

Donning a mental oh-so-sexy phantom-like cape and fedora, C.C. took over her virtual world and became Silent Phantasy: The Authoress!

Softly she chuckled to herself. "Erik will never know what hit him."

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Having been transported to the wonderful world of phanphiction, C.C. found herself in the most boring place known to authors and authoresses. It was a place so boring that it could only be described with the help of Weird Al: So boring "I'd rather rip my heart out with my bare hands, throw in on the floor, and stomp on till I die, (eh!) than spend one more minute..." here: The Planning Stage.

She was standing in a long, narrow hallway. (Actually it was rather quite short, but for dramatic effect please continue to picture the creepy endless hallway that has formed in all of your minds' eyes.)On either side of the hallway was a series of doors with dates carved deeply into the wood. The first read 1911, then continued 1925, 1943, and continued on to 2005, there were twelve total. C.C. had come to the decision all good phans had to make. She had to choose which version of PotO she wanted to use.

Within seconds she had employed her AAA, (Awesome Authoress Authority,) and was left with only three doors reading 1911, 1991, and 2005. There were the staples of most good phanphic writers: Leroux, Kay, and (drool,) Gerik. Now the hard decisions had to be made.

C.C. knew that Kay's version was the logical choice for elimination because the entirety of the Erik/Christine interaction had been rushed and kind of weak, but who could say no to a vicious and criminally insane ball of brown and cream fuzz? Cautiously C.C. approached the door marked 1991. Gripping the handle she opened the door just enough to let Ayesha stream through and then slammed it shut before the floating bottle of morphine and the box marked IMPENDING HEART ATTACK: DO NOT OPEN! could escape and work their way into her phic.

Panting slightly, C.C. reveled in her conquest over the sneaky world of fiction, but her triumph was short lived. When she reached out to give Ayesha a victory petting the siamese gave C.C. a full clawed whap and a look that promised that the next time the authoress that maneuver all she'd pull back would be a bloody stump.

"Stupid cat!" C.C. pouted, nursing her injured hand. "This is _my _phic! I am The Authoress! I am the deity to whom you bow, who's every whim you obey!"

Ayesha stared at the panting, (and possibly insane,) authoress, winked her eye, and began to nonchalantly clean her tail. C.C. threw her hands up in defeat. After all, Ayesha was a cat and therefore had to uphold the secret feline pledge to be as frustrating and annoying as physically possible. Her own cats were no different, Spike had this freakishly disconcerting habit of opening the bathroom door, sitting at the person's feet, and just starring at them without blinking. And C.C. would never forget how her Ayesha had "helped" her file her first income taxes by tracking mud all over the forms and chasing ALL the pens under the dresser.

Giving up on the cat at her feet, C.C. turned her attention back to the doors. Her eyes went thoughtfully from one door to the next. Many a good phic idea had been completely bombed by a poor choice of versions. There was only one thing left to do. She would have to go on a rambled and confusing monologue that she would disregard all the points of when she was done and make a hasty choice anyway. Taking a deep breath she started.

"The logical choice is definitely the Leroux version because it's still well known but not over used to oblivion so I won't be writing the exact same phic fifty million other phangirls with a crush on Gerry Butler have written a million times over because thanks to that screaming horde of obsessive phans absolutely anything and I mean anything I'd want to do in a Gerik phic is now horribly cliché like I can't use any song lyrics whether they were in the musical or not without getting eye rolls and I can't make fun of the fops hair or lack of personality and/or intelligence without it being done before to the point of absurdity and there's the fact that the layout for the lair's all bollocksed up I mean what the heck is the torture chamber doing underneath the lobby?"

Stopping only momentarily for air she continued. "And besides, Leroux Erik would be more of a challenge. I mean, Gerik is so incredibly sexy that Christine was already hot, bothered, and practically drooling. Especially when he wears those..."

C.C.'s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. (Over used simile, but bear with it, it's 3am.) "Oh My Hugh! Don Juan Pants!"

With her final words the authoress threw herself at the door marked 2005, images of tightly fitting brown trousers danced in her head. (Don Juan Pants were much better than sugar plums if you asked her.) All her arguments for Leroux!Erik were silenced as her mental voice found it much more appealing to start singing Past the Point of No Return instead.

A/N: And "Oh My Hugh!" is a reference to a certain oh-so-sexy Broadway actor that many stage phans will recognize. As far as I'm concerned this particular ex (sob) phantom is a god and should therefore be sworn by.


	2. Possible, Just Not Plausible

**A/N:** This should have been in the last chapter, but I get insanely lazy at 4am so there! -blows raspberry-. Anyway, the first half of chapter one is a true story, I really did get the idea for this story when my mum was out and I was yelling at the televison. It's kind of crazy and so far has no plot, but I hope yall enjoy.

Your Obedient Servant,

SP

_Disclaimer: I spent all of last week trying to get The Really Useful Group to hand over the rights to POTO, but then security threatened to get out pepper spray so I had to leave. _

**Chapter 2: Possible, Just Not Plausible**

"Aaahhhhh!" Splash!

C.C. had (as you've probably all inferred,) fallen into the middle of everybody's favorite black, glossy lake. As her eyes adjusted, she made out the outline of the entrance of the lair. Grimacing, she started to swim towards the portcullis.

**Serves you right, **her mental voice chided her. **This is what happens when you don't plan your entrance. One drops in on you. Or well, you kinda drop in on it.**

"Oh do shut up!"She snapped at the voice in her head.

**You know, **her mental voice shot back, **when you both hear voices and answer them you're clinically insane. **

Fortunately, C.C. was spared the humiliation of having just outwitted herself. She had reached the portcullis. Pressing herself against the algae-covered grate, she peered around the lair. This was normally the point of the story where she would have gone into a long, drawn out description of the lair using dark, sexy, and mysterious language, but since y'all have seen the movie she didn't see the need to bother.

"I suggest, Mademoiselle, that you go back the way you came."

"Jesus, Mary, and Hugh! How did you do that? No wait, don't answer that, it's just part of your charm." C.C. shot a slightly embarrassed grin at the Phantom who had seemingly materialized on the other side of the portcullis. Erik, however, was less than amused.

"Leave now, or I will be forced to assist you." He said icily as he fingered the Punjab lasso coiled neatly at his side.

"You could try," she countered, "but I can guarantee it will be on the ineffectual side."

"And why is that?" Erik hissed. He was infuriated by the girls boldness, but she had sparked his curiosity.

"Because," she explained, "in ten seconds I am going to be hit with a freak blast of natural radiation that enables me to turn incorporeal and/or invisible at will." She flashed him another grin.

By this time Erik had decided that the raven-haired girl in front of him was completely insane. He was about to punjab her when he was suddenly blinded by a flash of brilliant green light. He blinked several times and regained his vision just in time to see her walk through the iron gate as though it were nothing more than mere illusion.

"See?" she chirped happily. Enjoying her moment of power, C.C. walked over to Erik, planted a hand on his chest, and gave him a light shove. The Phantom was so startled that he could not regain his balance and tumbled unceremoniously into a heap on the floor.

"What . . . How did . . . " Erik sputtered on the floor, than taking a deep breath he regained what was left of his composure. "_That_ was impossible." he finished coolly.

"Not at all." she answered, reveling in his confusion. "It was entirely _possible_, just not very _probable_. You see, Monsieur le Fantôme, I find it to be horridly lazy writing to make things just happen, but many plot devises I'm needing I have no probable or logical way of getting. After a painful amount of intense problem solving I came up with a workable solution. It goes like this, if I can think up a way to get what I need that's technically possible, it doesn't have to be probable, ergo walking through solid iron." As she finished, C.C. stared down at Erik and waited for his reply, a smirk planted firmly on her face.

For a moment the just stared at each other, the flabbergasted Phantom (say that three times fast!) and the slightly too cocky authoress. "Who are you?" he finally managed.

"That," she purred with a deceptively sweet smile, " will just have to wait till the mornin'. I'm real tired, and I think we both could use some rest." With that she turned and flounced toward the swan bed. "And by the way," she threw over her shoulder, "I wouldn't suggest trying anything, for instance, oh I don't know, killing me brutally while I'm asleep. My phangirl senses will get all tingly if you get within about five metres. So it would pretty much be a waste of time." Crawling into the bed she added an overly chipper "Goodnight!". Then she fell into the instant and deep sleep of a second year university student, leaving the utterly dumbfounded phantom to stare slack-jawed at her sleeping form.


	3. All Is Revealed, Well Sorta

**A/N**: This is my last pre-written chapter, from here on I have absolutely no idea where the story goes from here, well actually I'm thinking of bring my cats in and have a vague idea involving lyrics from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but other than that nothing. So if anyone out there has ideas or suggestions give a shout out and there's a good chance it'll wander into the phic. As always, I hope yall enjoy.

Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,

SP

_Disclaimer: I spent all of last week trying to get The Really Useful Group to hand over the rights to PotO, but then security threatened to get out pepper spray so I had to leave empty handed._

**Chapter 3: All Is Revealed, Well Sorta**

To Erik's surprise the mysterious, but infuriating girl had spoked true. Both times he had tried to sneak up on her in the night she had shot up, instantly awake, and became incorporeal. Even worse, when he then tried to question her she would give him one of her maddening smiles and roll over muttering "Won't work. I've got brothers."

Thus, the disgruntled opera ghost was forced to wait until morning, or afternoon as the case turned out to be. By the time the green-eyed devil of a girl had awoken it had been nearly one in the afternoon. Erik had just settled down at his organ when he heard the distinct sound of his music box beginning to play. No sooner had the first three bar of music played than another sound followed, a disturbingly piercing cross between a scream and a growl. Instantly on his feet, Erik rushed out of the alcove to see what in heaven of hell could have provoked his uninvited guest to make such a noise.

Nothing he had imagined could have prepared him for the sight that awaited him. The Authoress had sprung out of the bed and had seized the little monkey music box with venomous conviction. She now had both hands around the figure's neck and was throttling it violently. She swore and cursed as she tried to choke the life out of the already inanimate little ape.

"You were watching me, I know it!" she growled at her helpless victim. "You with your beady little eyes that follow you everywhere and your magic playiness! Die you creepy little demon monkey from the pits of Hades! Die! Die! DIE!" There was a series of reverberating bangs as she began to smash the music box repeatedly against the edge of the swan bed. Erik chose this time to step in before the crazed phangirl could completely destroy one of his favourite possessions.

"Ehem!"

That was all it took. At the sound of the Phantom's two syllable utterance C.C. nearly shot through the roof, the music box flew from her hands and landed safely (if not soundly,) on the rumpled bed. Her cheeks turning an interesting shade of scarlet, she turned to face her reluctant host. Erik was leaning smugly against the wall wearing his trademark sexy-as-hell smirk. C.C. could tell that he was not-so-secretly reveling in the fact that, unlike the night before, he was in charge of this rather awkward situation.

"What exactly, my dear, do you have against my music box?" he asked, arching an eyebrow in her direction.

After contemplating her feet for a fraction of a second C.C. looked up from beneath her lashes with the best soulful and innocent look she could muster. "Well," she pouted, "you see, it's the caffeine withdrawal, it makes me do crazy things. So," she let face slip into a devilishly wicked grin, "if you value your possessions at all, go make me some coffee." she demanded brightly.

Make her. . . Nobody talked to him that way. Nobody! With a feral growl Erik launched himself at the insolent girl, a murderous gleam in his eye. . . only to find himself sprawled painfully on the floor directly behind her.

With a sigh C.C. turned to face him. "Are you quite done yet?" she asked him, sounding like a mother patronizing a naughty child. "Because I'm seriously beginning to question your comprehension of the word "incorporeal". Now get up, the coffee isn't going to brew itself." She offered him a hand up, but he only glared at her and hauled himself to his feet.

"If you desire coffee so much I'll show you to the kitchen where you can brew some if you like."

"Are you sure you want to set me loose in your kitchen?" she countered. "Besides, it clearly states in the Bible that man should brew the coffee."

Erik stared at her quizzically far a moment. "I've never felt the need to read such pointless religious twaddle, but I'm certain it doesn't state who should brew the coffee."

"Yes, yes. 'A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.'" C.C. dryly quoted Macbeth. "But, it does. In fact, I'll make a wager with you. If I can't prove that the Bible states that man should brew the coffee I will straightforwardly state why I'm here, accomplish my task without further distraction, and then promptly leave. But, if I can prove it, I expect to wake up to freshly brewed coffee every morning." She held out her hand. "Deal?" she asked, trying to keep the mischievous glint out of her eyes.

"Done." Grasping her hand, he shook it firmly then disappeared into another room, cloak swirling.

C.C. watched him go. After a moment of drooling (swirling cloaks have that effect on her,) she allowed her self to participate in the activity she had wanted to ever since her arrival the night before: the proverbial happy dance.

"Squeeeeeeeeee!" she squealed as she spun in circles doing a disturbing little jig. "I'm in the lair with Erik! Happy Dance! Happy Dance! I'm in the lair with Erik!" Hugging herself, she hopped up and down and added one more "Squeeeeeeeee!" for good measure. From the couch, Ayesha regarded the Authoress as though she were completely insane (which might have been a fair assessment.)

Suddenly C.C.'s phangirl senses started to tingle and she regained her composure just as Erik walked into the room carrying a large leather bound book.

"Here," he said, thrusting the book at the girl, "show me where it says I should be the one to brew the coffee."

Taking the Bible from him, C.C. smiled to herself. It was time to put all of those jokes her mates emailed her to good use. Flipping to the New Testament she leafed through the pages until she found what she wanted. "There!" she exclaimed triumphantly as she pointed at the top of the page. The Phantom's gaze grew stormy as he read the indicated word. For at the top of several pages it indeed indicated "Hebrews.".

"Black and strong." she instructed. Erik looked like he wanted to kill something. (Three guesses who, and the first two don't count!)

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Ten minutes later C.C. was sitting on the couch with a cup of strong black coffee in her hand. Erik stood over her trying his best, and succeeding, to look imposing.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"The Authoress." she said simply.

That's not a name."

"Well, I was going to call myself "The Phantom", but it was taken." she shot back.

He looked slightly embarrassed. "Point taken. How did you get here?"

That was a tough one. How did she explain that "here" didn't exist, that it was a figment of her imagination that she made up in order to feel better about how a story ended.

"Er. . .I um...I, uh, did the time warp?" she tried.

"The what?" the answer had set Erik back slightly.

"Time Warp. Ya know, jump to the left, step to the right, hands on your hips. . . okay, maybe I'm a century too early for that one." she said as she ran her fingers thoughtlessly through her black curls.

Erik stared at her, looking her over carefully. "So you're saying," he said slowly, "you're from the future."

"Yeah, pretty much." Okay, lame, but she hadn't thought up any explanation and was improvising.

Erik studied her for another second before continuing. "Assuming that you are from the future, which is not saying I believe you, why are you here?"

"To, uh, play matchmaker." she said, trying to dodge the question.

"For whom might I ask?"

This was dangerous territory, but eventually it had to happen. **I hope you have a good life insurance policy**the voice in her head sniped. Taking a deep breath C.C. prepared to take the plunge. Looking Erik straight in the eye she said, "You and Christine."

Emotions crossed Erik's face too quickly for C.C. to fully register. Surprise. Anger. Shock. Suspicion. And back to anger. He clenched his fists in front of him. C.C. stared at his whitening knuckles with a sneaky suspicion that if he squeezed any harder she'd see blood well from within his fist. "How do you know about that?" he hissed.

C.C. knew that this could go from bad to worse fast, so she changed her approach. Lounging back on the sofa she sighed dramatically. "Oh, stop that before you burst a blood vessel." she scolded. "Look, mate, what part of 'from the future' did you not understand? Short version? I'm from the year 2005 where your story is quite famous. You tried, er, will try, to get Christine, your efforts completely caned, I'm here to fix it."

Erik just stood there, a bewildered look on his face. Apparently being told that he would fail to get the love of his life and there was a girl from one hundred and twenty-four years in the future, a future where he was famous, was here to change the past/his future was a little much for him to handle. Go figure.

**Alright, **C.C.'s mental voice said, **time for Plan B then is it? **Plan B, she thought, I have a Plan B? The voice spoke up again, this time with an exasperated voice that sounded suspiciously like her mum. **A picture's worth a thousand words, love.**

Right! Leaping to her feet, C.C. dashed off toward the back rooms, pushing aside a curtain and rushing down one of the lair's many hidden hallways. She came back a few minutes later with her laptop and the PotO DVD tucked under one arm. In the other hand she carried a bowl of popcorn, Jaffa Cakes, gummy bears, and marshmallow peeps.

"Where did those come from?" Erik asked as he eyed the black and purple rectangle under her arm. "I'm quite certain they weren't back there ten minutes ago."

"Ancient, time traveling, Japanese monk." she explained. "He brought my entire stash for me."

"Impossible!" he growled. "If there is such a man here than I'm. . ."

His word were cut off as he sensed movement behind him. Whirling, Erik found himself facing a little bald Asian man in a long brown robe. "Konichiwa!" the monk said with a little bow, just before disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke.

"Bye, Lo Whi!" C.C. called after him. "Thanks for my stuff!" Then she turned to Erik with barely contained laughter. "You were saying?"

"Er. . ." he fumbled for an answer. "Well. . . that is. . ." Then changing the subject. "What is that thing under your arm?"

"It's called a laptop computer." She wracked her brain trying to think of a way to explain it. Somehow she didn't think 'it's a magic box from the future' was going to cut it. "Think of it like a cross between a book and a, uh, music box," she said dumbly, "except it only has one page that displays different words, sounds, and pictures when you give it different physical commands." It was a horrid explanation, but it would have to do. Noticing the gleam in Erik's eye she added, "If you even think about taking it apart I'll. . . I'll. . ." What was a threat horrible enough to ensure the safety of her precious computer?

"I'll chain you to the wall of a small room and then lock Carlotta and her little barking rodents in there with you." Judging by the horrified look on Erik's face, C.C. figured that her threat had struck home. "Now sit down." she continued. "You're gonna watch a movie."

"A what?" Erik asked.

"Well," C.C. teased, "if you would quit interrupting me, you'll find out a whole lot sooner." Suddenly serious, she tried to explain what she was about to show him. "Look, whatever I tell you about what I know isn't going to make fully understand what is happening here, so I'm going to show you. This," she said, showing him the disk, "is what would happen if I never decided to play Cupid. Now, I'm not saying this is how things are going to end, but that they could and that in my world they did."

With that, C.C. popped the DVD into the drive. After navigating through the menus she set the computer onto Erik's lap. In any other circumstance she would have sternly yet playfully demanded that his complete attention be devoted to the computer, but the sounds and pretty flashing lights beat her to it. Erik's face was the definition of shock and awe as he stared at the screen. C.C. noticed that he bore a striking resemblance to her five year-old nephew when he saw some new over the top special effect. The comparison sent C.C. into a fit of giggles.

Normally C.C. would have settled down and watched the movie out of phangirl duty, but she had found a much better show. Watching Erik's drop jawed gaping and other very unphantomy behavior was the most hilarious thing she had seen since her drunken brother had preformed Green Day's King For A Day in heels and a dress. Unfortunately the show didn't last long. The scene between Christine and Raoul in the dressing room hadn't caused the stir C.C. thought it might have, only warranting a slight frown from Erik.(Thank Hugh for states of shock, eh?) And he became completely captivated when at the sound of his own singing, apparently even the Phantom himself couldn't resist the thrall of his voice. Then came the unmasking and all that follows.

Even having had grown up with various Eriks, the emotional roller coaster was almost too much for C.C. to handle. As her best friend, Rudolf, would have said, he was suffering from a severe case of DDS: damned and dumped syndrome. It was were one went through four of the five stages of grief all at once. Denial, anger, bargaining, and depression all spinning around in a gut wrenching emotional spaz attack. It completely tore C.C. to pieces to him like that, but it had to be done. Tough love, the truth hurts, whatever doesn't kill you: all that bloody tosh. Finally the movie ended and Erik rushed to his room where he (say it with me now,) began to work on his masterpiece to forget the horror of the moment.

**A/N: Wow that's a long chapter for me. Normally my attention span isn't long enough to write more than three of four pages. This chapter was also way too serious for my taste, but it wasn't my fault. I swear! Freddy, the invisible monkey made me do it! **


	4. A Rather Pointless Chapter

**A/N:** I Looove my reviewers! Thanx to you all! Please continue, but no flames, I'm not supposed to play with fire since the. . . "accident". And again, ideas wanted. As always, I hope yall enjoy.

Your Obedient Servant,

SP

_Disclaimer: I spent all of last week trying to get The Really Useful Group to hand over the rights to PotO, but then security threatened to get out pepper spray so I had to leave empty handed._

**Chapter 4: A Rather Pointless Chapter**

Nearly six hours after the movie incident, C.C. was sitting on the couch trying to think of a possible way to get an internet connection in the lair when she heard the organ music stop. She could feel Erik coming up behind her long before he spoke. Silently she counted down in her head: 3. . .2. . .1. . .

"Can you really fix it?" he asked almost pleadingly. (Bingo! Could she call it or what?)

'I could try." she offered turning around. "And probably succeed, it you'll let me."

Erik's face looked like he was afraid to hope. "But how could you? You saw. . ." His hand flew up to his mask.

"Okay, hurdle, but not as bad as you think." Why couldn't she have inherited her mum's speech giving skills? "I think she was more bothered by the terror and the killin' than by. . . anything else. Besides," she tried awkwardly, "even Jack Skellington got the girl in the end."

**Oooooo! Tim Burton film! **C.C.'s mental voice perked up and began to sing. **This is Halloween! This is Halloween! La! La! La!**

'_No!' _C.C. thought angrily. _'Bad mental voice! This is so not the time!' _

**Awwwww! **It answered back, **You're no fun!**

"Fictional skeleton. Ruler of Halloween Town in the movie Nightmare Before Christmas." she answered even before Erik could ask the question. "Great movie, by the way. We'll have to watch it sometime."

Erik was beginning to lose what little patients he had to begin with. This was only the second time in his life he had admitted to needing help to anyone, and this time traveling little she devil was _not _going to take this lightly. "What would you have me do?" he demanded taking a step forward.

"Okay, personal space! Step out of the personal spubble!" After a moment she attempted to avoi. . . ehem, answer his question. "Well, if this were one of those parody phics I'd suggest you call Oprah, Dr. Phil, or Freud. But, since it's not, you're gonna have to give me a few days to, um, perfect my game plan."

"What?" Erik growled. "You mean to tell me that you have no idea what you are going to do?" this was getting to be too much.

"No, that's not true." she said, lying through her teeth. "I know exactly what I want to do. I just need to observe the main parties for a few days in order to make certain I don't get blind sided by some off the wall character trait." C.C. didn't know if Erik believed her, but at least now she had a valid excuse.

"Well, since you're going to be here a while to _observe_, I might as well get you some more proper clothing." he said as he eyed her outfit. C.C. looked down at her clothing for the first time that day. Erik kinda had a point. Maybe, just maybe, a pair of pinstripe pajama pants and a bright red, white, and blue British flag sweatshirt that exclaimed "The Sex Pistols" would get a few stares.

"Oh, don't worry about that." C.C. said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "In exactly one minuet and twenty-three seconds a carriage packed full of clothes exactly my measurements will crash right outside the Rue Scribe entrance. The driver will be so drunk that he will trade the entirety of the cargo for a ball of string, two bent paper clips, and some fishy crackers. After receiving his payment he will promptly pass out and remember absolutely nothing in the morning."

Erik opened his mouth to argue the possibility of such a crash, but then thought better of it. (See! He can be trained!) He settled for staring awkwardly at the ceiling for several seconds before the distinct sound of a carriage crash filtered down to the layer. C.C. flashed him an I-told-you-so grin and pressed a bag containing the drunk driver's payment into his hands. "Have fun! Oh, and do be sure to watch out for his south paw, he's a bit of a violent one."

"Now wait just a minute." Erik thrust the bag roughly back at the Authoress. "I am not going to go out and barter with this drunken fool for your clothing."

C.C. pressed her hand to her chest in a look of mock horror. "Monsieur! I am completely shocked! You mean to say that you would have me, a innocent and virtuous young lady, go out alone to handle a violent drunk of questionable morals? How could you? Where is your gentleman's honour?"

With a growl Erik grabbed the bag and stalked towards the Rue Scribe entrance (or is it exit if you're already on the inside of the lair?) mumbling something to the effect of "If I ever get my hand on you. . ." under his breath.

"Go me!" C.C. smirked. "Silent Phantasy: 6, Phantom:0!"

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Twenty minutes later C.C. was strewning the lair with petticoats and day dresses. Pausing momentarily she'd twirl with a gown squealing "Lovely!" or "Hell yeah, Baby!". Like every nineteen-year-old girl she had completely immersed herself in the new clothes experience. In fact, she was so caught up in her new wardrobe she didn't even notice the Phantom's gaze upon her.

Erik leaned against the wall of the lair and watched the young authoress gleefully flinging clothing about her. To his utter amazement he found a smile, his first genuine smile in many years, on his face. This girl, the Authoress she'd called herself, might be crude and infuriating, but she also had a certain something about her. It was something he couldn't quite put his finger on, like a powerful and smokey melody that flitted just outside his memory. Whatever it was, it gave him hope that just maybe she could accomplish what she had come to do. Maybe she could fix his life.

**A/N:** **For those of you who don't speak compounded word gibberish, spubble is a combination of the words Space Bubble. So in plain and boring English I told Erik to step out of my personal space bubble. **


	5. A Haunting Argument via Freddy

A/N:

C.C.: For those who wanted to know, yes I really do talk like that, half of it's my crazy upbringing, which I might explain in chapter seven, the other half is that I'm just completely sack of hammers.

Muse!Erik: Get to the blackmail!

Muse!Yoda: Yes, yes. Honest you must be.

C.C.: Alright, as my muses command. Gentle Readers, I will not be posting Chapter 6 until I get twenty reviews, at least one of them being an idea. Evil I know, but my brain has gotten very used to lack of use and now is getting very sore from thinking up things to happen in this phic. Besides, I think that four reviews per chapter isn't too much to ask.

Muse!Erik: And if her demands are not met then. . .

C.C.: Hey! Who's do the threatening here!

Muse!Erik: Sorry.

C.C.: Anywho, those are the conditions of the blackmail. As always, I hope yall enjoy.

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**Chapter 5: A Haunting Argument via Freddy**

C.C. woke the next morning to the smell of victory, that is, strong coffee. Crawling out of the swan bed wearing nothing but a chemise she flounced happily into the main room. Catching sight of her scantily clad form, Erik let out a short gasp and whirled so that his back was firmly towards her.

"Damn you, woman!" he hissed. "Have you no decency?"

"None whatsoever." she stated matter of factly as she picked up the cup of coffee from the table. "And you better get used to it, you're gonna have to help me do up my corset."

"I most certainly will not!" he retorted, still refusing to face her. "I'm sure you can think of some possible way to do it up yourself."

"I could," C.C. answered slyly, "but I won't. I don't like to press the poetic licence too much. It angers my muses who then leave me with no one but Freddy who gives me writer's block, or even worse, forces a plot into my story."

**Liar! **Again, her mental voice sounded a lot like her mother. **You couldn't care less about poetic licence! You just want to be groped by The Phantom of the Opera! **

'_Uh! 'Snot true!' _she thought back angrily. _'You know very well how evil Freddy is. And besides, mild groping is the right of the authoress.' _

**You're supposed to be setting him up with _Christine. _**

'_Yes, but I'm also a phangirl and if I don't create at least minor sexual tension I'll be shot, poisoned, stabbed, or punjabed by the Phangirl Association of London. So if you don't mind!' _Her mental voice gave a heavy sigh.

**If you must. **

'_Squeeeeeeeee!" _

". . .Freddy?" Erik's voice jerked C.C. out of her intense internal argument.

"Hmm?" She tried, and failed, to keep an embarrassed blush from creeping into her cheeks.

"I asked you who this _Freddy_ was." Erik repeated tiredly. He still hadn't turned to face her.

"Oh! He's an invisible monkey who runs around my flat turning lights on, leaving my shoes where people can trip on them, stuff like that. He can also wreck all sorts of hell on my writing. Anything overly angsty, fluffy, or plot filled is all Freddy."

The explanation was just stupid enough to work. Erik turned around with an almost palpable eye roll. He still refused to look at her, but it was progress. "Well," he sighed in defeat, "I certainly can't leave you at the mercy of an infinitesimal ape."

"Invisible monkey." The Authoress corrected. "Infinitesimal ape is far less humourous and therefore depletes Freddy's potential as future comic relief." Erik gave the air directly behind her a 'don't push it' glare.

"Will you stop with the modest gentleman getup already?" C.C. snapped. It was really starting to annoy her. "You've been watching scantily clad ballerinas prance around in half of this" she gestured at her chemise, "since you were God knows how old. And I don't even want to think about the fact that you have a full length, one way mirror in Christine's _dressing _room. That, and I _know _you have to have some kind of peephole in the girls dormitory." Standing up, C.C. stamped her foot indignantly to drive her point home.

Erik's reaction made the young phan's jaw drop. She had been expecting rage, scathing insults, maybe even some running for her life, anything what she saw in front of her. It was so out of character she had the urge to start looking around for squiggly alien body snatchers. Before her Erik, the mighty Opera Ghost, was blushing a deep crimson and smiling like a guilty school boy.

After picking her jaw up off the floor, C.C. rolled her eyes and sighed in a classic I'm-a-disgusted-female-and-want-you-to-know-it look.

**Well what did you expect? **Her mental voice asked. **After all, he is a man. **

'_Yeah,' _she agreed silently,_ 'men are just dirty little boys with bigger bank accounts.'_

With another eye roll the Authoress grabbed Erik by the sleeve and began hauling him towards the back room where she had her clothing stored. "Come on Casanova, I've got to get into my haunting uniform."

Erik stopped dead. "Your what?" he demanded.

"Haunting uniform." she repeated. "I'm going out haunting and will therefore need a good haunting outfit. I'm thinking my wraith costume from a production I did of Darkness with a black corset, torn fishnet stockings, and a red, no, _crimson _cape."

Despite the length of her rambled explanation, Erik hadn't gotten past the words 'going out haunting'. "I will not have you stomping about the theatre in some silly costume, threatening what it has taken me a lifetime to build." The Phantom stated cooly.

"Uh, hello!" C.C. threw her hands in the air. "Freak blast of radiation, remember? I'm Invisigirl!" To prove her point she vanished in front of him. "How," she whispered in his ear, "can they catch someone they can neither see nor touch?"

"Then why exactly would you need a haunting uniform?" His tone hadn't changed.

She materialized beside him. "Well you don't honestly expect me to stay that way all the time, do you?"

Erik grabbed her by the wrists and fiercely pulled her towards him. "This is my opera house!" he growled. "Everything and everyone in it belongs to me! My orders will be obeyed!"

C.C.'s temper had always gotten her into trouble, then was no different. Erik had pushed her too far. Tearing her arm free she stepped up, closing what little distance there was between them until she was right in his face. "'Belongs to. . .'" she spat, "You know what your problem is? _You_ are an over possessive cad under the impression that you're God! It's no wonder that she left you!"

A look of pure fury crossed Erik's face. For a moment C.C. was certain he was going to hit her. She waited for the blow, but it never came. With a guttural growl Erik took off across the lair and into the boat, pushing himself off with furious strokes.

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Freddy: The angst! Let it ooze! Muhhahaha!

C.C.: Nooooo! Bad monkey! Bad monkey!

She draws a purple light saber and chases Freddy away from the laptop, then settles down to fix the story.

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C.C. watched Erik go until she could no longer make out his shape in the darkness. **Wonderful! **Her mental voice snapped. **Bloody Brilliant! **

'_Oh hush up!' _she snapped back. _'He'll be back. Erik will realize what a grave mistake he's made and limp back with a wounded ego. Either that,' _A fiendish smile crossed her face._'or I'll think of a way to vaporize his pants.' _

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**A/N: There it is! Oh, and the Phangirl Association of London is just me and a bunch of my mates gathering to watch movies, listen to soundtracks, and get in fist fights over whether Michael Crawford of Gerry Butler is a better singer. And if you must know, I've been blaming Freddy the Invisible Monkey for absolutely everything since I was nine-years-old. **


	6. How to Fry Pants

A/N:

_C.C.:_ Wow! This blackmail thing really works!

_Muse!Erik:_ Of course it works! Why do think it's my main MO?

_C.C.: _Good point. Now, since yall have been such great fans, Muse!Erik and I are going to give our first shot at review replies.

_Muse!Erik_: Don't encourage them! Think of what they could do to me. . .on second thought.

_C.C.: _You're a figment of my imagination, so hush! Starting from the top:

**Trier1974:** Hysteria is a serious charge, but I'll try not to disappoint.

_Muse!Erik_: Hysterical, no. But I'll grant her insane.

**Gomen-ne-Yami: **Original, eh? No one's ever accused me of that before. And don't Don Juan Pants just make you want to do a happy dance?

_Muse!Erik:_ Original? Ha! If I a franc for every obsessed phangirl who burst into my lair and drooled over my pants I wouldn't need to terrorize the managers. I'd still do it, but I wouldn't need to!

_C.C.:_ Erik! Give it up already! _You _don't have a lair! _You_ are my muse, just a figment of my imagination that lives in my closet!

**RoseMisre: **It better be innocent, cuz if not I've got a clingy, but absolutely adorable, Irish lad with a bone to pick with you. LOL ;)

_Muse!Erik:_ Yeah, because skinny guys who play the violin are so incredibly terrifying.

_C.C.:_ Hey, Genius! You're a skinny guy who plays the violin!

_Muse!Erik:_ Oh, right.

**Darth Squishy:** I thought Erik was going to kill me too, but then there would be no authoress, so I got to live.And if you want to write fluff uninterrupted try distracting your anti-muse with something shiny, it works with Freddy sometimes.

_Muse!Erik: _I was definitely going to have him. . .me. . . the other me kill her, but then I realized I would cease to exist and I love me more than I hate her, just barely.

_C.C.:_ Yay for Erik's ego!

**Elf Of Rohan: **The 'Hebrews' thing wasn't actually mine. A friend emailed it to me in a joke, but I'm glad you liked it.

_Muse!Erik:_ See! I told you she could never come up with anything original!

**MasqueradingThroughLife: **Doesn't blackmail smell great? Sort of tangy and darkly sweet. And 'spubble' is one of the many words in my everyday vocab that I made up, much to the annoyance of my friends and family.

_Muse!Erik:_ Yes, she really is quite annoying. I find myself fingering my Punjab lasso every other time she opens her mouth.

_C.C.:_ Hey! Don't make me sick the army of marshmallow peeps on you again!

**Everyone Else**: Thanks for the review, but I'm replies are running a little long and so I only replied to people who responded more than once or wrote more than one sentence.

_Muse!Erik:_ She doesn't love you.

_C.C.: _Do so! -to reviewers- Ignore him. He's quite evil and insane.

_Disclaimer: Yes, I do own Erik! No, wait, that's just in my phantasy world. Darn! I don't own Erik or anything else that Leroux, Kay, or The Really Useful Group beat me to. -pouts-_

**Chapter 6: How To Fry Pants**

Several hours later, C.C. was down in the lair, engrossed in a serious mental debate over how exactly she could find a possible way to vaporize Erik's pants. The problem was that it was difficulty to the utmost degree to find a way to incinerate the pants off a person without harming any of the . . .um, special parts.

'_We could throw a crazed, hormone driven phangirl at him.' _C.C. suggested.

**We want him to survive the experience with at least some semblance mental competency remaining.**

'_Fire?'_

**You're insane.**

'_Rather,' _C.C. thought for a moment. _'but I do see your point. How about a freak sun flare? It worked for Daffy.'_

**First off, when was the last time you heard of O.G. going out into the sun. Secondly, _ERIK IS NOT A CARTOON DUCK!_**

'_Okay, okay! Just a suggestion. No need to scream at me in italicized capitals!'_she huffed._ 'I don't hear you coming up with any ideas!'_

**Alright, how about Marvin the Martian? He has all those nifty little ray guns. **Her mental voice sounded smug. It was probably pulling stuff out of a certain orifice too, but it sounded smug doing it.

'_Didn't he already do that to Brendan Frasier in the movie?' _C.C. asked.

**No, you dolt! That was a belt thingy/grappling hook! Marvin's still available. **Her mental voice seemed just a touch over protective of its answer.

'_Just the same, lets stay away from Warner Brothers' cartoons all together. They tend to bring in large, overpowered weapons from Acme Inc., then they always explode, and I have this sneaky suspicion that Erik just might frown upon his opera house being blown to smithereens.'_

**Good point**.

'_But the whole borrowing from other media thing does have potential.' _The Authoress mused.

**What are you thinking? **Her mental voice asked.

C.C. grinned._ 'Beam me up, Scotty!' _She was met with confused silence. _'There could be a transporter malfunction.' _she explained. _'Only instead of showing up inside out or with his head on all backwards like, he'd be pantless!' _She stopped momentarily to drool at the mental image.

**Great plan, Genius! Now all you have to do is find a way to build a transporter in the year 1881!**

(Note: I'm using the year in the musical (1881,) versus the year in the movie (1870). Why? Because the Paris Opera wasn't even operational until 1875! Bad Joel! Bad! Bad! BAD!)

'_Oh, right. Uh. . .tear in the time-fiction continuum?' _C.C. gave herself a quick mental pat on the back for her quick and clever thinking, a rather uncommon occurrence with her caffeine riddled mind.

**That's a good idea, but you should probably save it for later.**

'_Idea!' _The Authoress instantly brightened. _'You have one! I know it! Spill! Spill NOW!'_

**The word "vaporized" is relative, right? **

'_Actual vaporizing would insure more hilarity, but I'm getting desperate, so I guess so. I mean, as long as the pants come off.'_

**Good, here's the plan. **At this point her mental quieted to a low whispered. C.C. wasn't sure how it could do this, being mental and all, but it was important to her there-is-no-plot line.** . . . trapdoor. . .rusty old nail. . .splash. . .pantless. **The plan was set in motion.

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Erik stormed through the basement levels of the opera house. How dare this girl barge into his life, invade his inner sanctum, only to jeopardize its very existence with her flippant games. He was so focused on his infuriated rampage that he became far too busy to do things like remember were all his nifty little trap doors were hidden.

Normally this wouldn't have been a problem seeing that Erik made quite sure that all his secret trapdoors and passages were kept shut and securely fastened at all times. Anyone passing- or rampaging- over would never feel a difference between the hidden door and solid ground. Unfortunately for the Phantom, thanks to a scheming authoress, today things would be a little different.

Exactly one floor above the lake sat a little used escape route. Erik had built the trapdoor in case he ever needed a quick escape from that floor. However, due to his aversion to dropping down a floor into an icy underground lake and then swimming halfway across in his clothing, he had never used it. Due to lack of use, the damp lake air, and the tromping of stage hands in heavy boots the latch had become weak and rusted . All it need to give was the forceful raging of a someone in thick leather boots.

With the reverberating sound of tortured metal the latch tore clean from its hold in the stone wall, sending Erik plummeting down below. Or, it would have sent Erik plummeting down below if it hadn't been for a single rusty nail. The nail had torn into the seam of his trousers and for the moment he hung suspended in the air. He hung in this limbo for several seconds before hearing a popping sound as seams tore and buttons went flying. This time Erik plunged head first into the lake, but minus a rather, ahem, interesting article of clothing. (Insert squeeing and fun mental images here!)

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At the sound of the splash C.C. jumped up and ran as close to the portcullis as she could. If this had worked the way she thought it would than there was no way that she was going to miss a second of it. Leaning against the wall she tried to fight off the guilty grin that sought to plaster itself across her face. A couple of minuets later Erik emerged from the lake sopping wet, his cape tied securely around his waist. (I know y'all wanted to see Erik run around naked, but I don't want to up the rating, so you'll have to deal.)

"Oooo!" she teased. " You're naaaaked!"

"What do you know about it!" he snarled at her as he tripped the mechanism closing the portcullis.

C.C. feigned a look of pure shock. "What makes you think I had anything to do with it? Do you honestly think all I do is spend my afternoons thinking up ways for you and your pants to part ways?" she hadn't lied to him, technically.

Erik growled in response and stalked off into the back rooms, leaving a trail of water big enough to make Sea World jealous. As soon as he was safely out of ear shot she burst into a fit of giggles. Normally, a half naked Erik in clinging wet clothing was not cause for hilarity, but there are exceptions to every rule.

She managed suppress her giggle fit just as Erik skulked back into the room wearing a clean shirt and a pair of black pants identical to the ones he had worn earlier. Now that she though about it, except for the masquerade and the performance of Don Juan Triumphant she had only ever seen him wear one style of pants. The Authoress decided that this was worth investigating and made a mental note to ransack his closet the next time he left her alone in the lair.

"I would appreciate if you spoke of this to no one." he said stiffly.

"Sure thing." Posting the entirety of the incident on the internet wasn't speaking, exactly. Erik glared at her. He knew there was something she wasn't telling him. "Hey!" she protested. "It's not my fault that Mr. Trap Door Lover can't keep up with the maintenance!"

"How did you know that?" he snapped.

Oops! Why couldn't she have been born with that mechanism that keeps everything that came into her head from spilling out her mouth! Thinking quickly she answered, "Uh, hello! I was standing right there!" she gestured toward the portcullis. "I saw the whole thing!"

Erik seemed to buy it. After scrutinizing her for a few more seconds he turned and sighed. "Right, how could I have forgotten?"

"So," C.C. asked with the sweetest smile she could manage, "can I go haunting now?"

Erik gave her another tired sigh. "We'll see."

**A/N**: **There it is! How to part a brooding phantom from his pants. Not as funny as finding a way to actually _vaporize _them, but my brain was starting to hurt and Muse!Erik told me he'd run around naked with a hat of ground beef before he helped me figure out a way to vaporize his pants.**


	7. SiPhy Double Feature

**A/N:** Review replies have been moved to the bottom for aesthetic purposes. They were kind of cluttering things up were they were.

_Disclaimer: I do not in any way own anything related to the Phantom of the Opera. That right belongs to people far richer and smarter than me._

**Chapter 7: SiPhy Double Feature**

"Please? Ya know ya wanna!" C.C. had been begging Erik to let her go haunting for the better part of an hour and the fabled Opera Ghost was nearing his breaking point.

"I said we would see!" he snapped at her.

"Oh, come on, love!" she persisted.

"Will you be quite already! Your obnoxious mismatched accent is really starting to bother me!"

"My accent is not obnoxious!" He had hit one of the few really sore points in her life. "It's just multi cultural!"

"Pray tell, my dear, what does that mean exactly?" Apparently her outburst had perked his interest.

"Just what I said!" she huffed. "It's a mix of different accents!"

Erik sat down on the couch. This was a potentially intriguing conversation and he was not going to miss the chance to delve into it. He motioned to the seat beside him. C.C. wasn't sure she wanted to sit down next to him at that moment, but her phangirl instincts wouldn't allow her to pass up a chance to be mere centimeters from her obsession. Stiffly she sat down, flipping her jet curls indignantly and refusing to look at him.

"Where are you from, mademoiselle?"He asked her sweetly.

"A lot of places." she snapped bluntly.

"Which places are those?" Erik purred into her ear.

C.C. felt her resolve weakening. True, she was a stubborn and thick headed individual, but she was also a phan. Apparently Erik was catching on to this and was pressing his advantage. "Now that I'm in college: London with my mum on summer holiday, Geogia during the school year, and British Columbia on spring and winter holiday. I have tri-citizenship." she relented.

"Interesting," Erik mused, "and how exactly did this come about?"

C.C. sighed, she kind of got tired of telling this story, but it was something that people always found fascinating for some odd reason. "My nana on my dad's side was an American and my Grandfather was a Canadian. He was in the fleet, she was a nurse, they met on a base, had a son, and thus my dad was a dual-citizen. Then my father followed in his dad's seaman footsteps, joined up with the US Navy, and was stationed in England. While he was there he went to a benefit concert where he, for about five minutes, fell head over heels with a young opera singer, my mum. I was born, my parents split up, I was bounced between my mum, my dad, and my nan enough that I qualified for citizenship for each country. So you might say that I'm living proof that there should never have been International Navy bases."

There it was, the story of her life. Most times she just would have stopped there, but for some reason she kept going. Maybe it was because for the first time she had found someone who could identify with the feeling of not belonging even more than she could. Her gemstone eyes growing stormy she continued.

"See, that's why I hate it when people talk about my accent, or the fact that I never name the latest stars in the country, or sing along with the new number one hit. I don't really belong to any of their countries. Don't get me wrong, love all my homes and families, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm an outcast in each of them."

As she finished, C.C. found her hands suddenly very interesting. She stared intently at their twisting motion while she waited for the Phantom to respond. For several tense seconds they sat in awkward silence before Erik finally spoke. "Maybe I misunderstood you, little one." He looked contemplative, his grey-green eyes somewhat distance as he gently gnawed his lower lip. "If you would like, I'll show you my opera house."

C.C. brightened. "Really?" she squealed and threw her arms around Erik's neck, completely forgetting that was high on the list of Ways To Make A Phantom Want To Kill You. Erik stiffened, then to C.C.'s surprise, allowed himself to be hugged. But, not for very long. After a few seconds he stood up with a hint of a smile and gestured towards the back rooms. "Come on then. We had best get you into some decent haunting clothes."

The Authoress jumped up from the sofa and clapped her hands merrily like an excited child. Her eyes sparkling brightly she bounded ahead of Erik into the back rooms. "Who are we going to terrorize?" she asked him.

"No one." Immediately Erik began to regret his decision.

"Then can I drop something on someone?"

"No."

"Can I try out my maniacal laugh on the ballet girls?"

"No."

"Can I. . ."

"NO!" Erik could tell this was going to be a long night.

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**A/N: Here it is. The long awaited chapter where you finally get properly introduced to me, your humble host. I'm afraid it's not a very funny one, but since my adoring fans want to know. . . **

_Muse!Erik:_ cough-humblemyass-cough

_C.C.:_ I heard that! Go to your closet!

_Muse!Erik: _No, we have to do review replies first.

**MTL: **Have fun with your Erik! Tearing their clothing into tiny pieces is half the fun of having one.

_Muse!Erik:_ Ha! Tear now, but one of these days we abused muses shall get our revenge.

**Trier1975**: Always a pleasure to talk to the phellow phans. Glad you like it!

_Muse!Erik:_ Antics? I hardly call her running around a fellow Erik's lair wrecking havoc innocent antics!

**Darth Squishy: **Angelina pictures, hmm? I wonder if that would distract Muse!Erik when he's being particularly obnoxious.

_Muse!Erik:_ . . .what? I was distracted by the pretty brit with all the weapons.

_C.C.:_ Eureka!

**elf of rohan: **Erik running around half naked is a marvelous image isn't it?

_Muse!Erik:_ -mumbles something about punjabbing-

**Anon: **Erik does have a bit of an ego problem, doesn't he? But, I can't complain to much. After all he didn't love himself so much he would have killed me back in chapter 2. And, darn it, I new I shouldn't have let Freddy be my Beta!

_Muse!Erik:_ To big for my. . .Insolent Fool! How dare you? -lunges at computer screen-

_C.C.:_ Hey! You even think about it and I'll lock you in your closet with the neighbor's teacup Chihuahua!

**Momnonomous: **hehe, fun name. Hmmm, G.D.G., it doesn't have the same ring as, lets say, O.G., but it might to.

_Muse!Erik:_ Hey! My fellow Eriks and I are the only ones who get cool initials.


	8. Propriety and Paradoxes

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since the last update. School, the life I don't really have, and university level homework all kinda got in the way. I'll be a little more prompt with the next one. I promise.

Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,

SP

**Chapter 8: Propriety and Paradoxes**

"Ready?" Erik asked, gripping the strings of C.C.'s corset.

"Ready." The Authoress affirmed as she gripped the edge of the swan bed, bracing herself for the bone crushing constriction. Without another word Erik yanked hard on the corset strings, bringing her waist in a great many inches. C.C. gasped and her eyes bulged. Her head began to swim, but as she reminded herself to take shallow breaths things began to return to normal. Silently she thanked god for all of the Renascence fairs she and mother worked during their summer holidays. She would never get used to a corset, but at least she came semi-prepared for the experience.

Deftly, Erik tied off the corset strings and tucked them inside the lacings. As her brain began to adjust to the oxygen depravation, C.C. began to wonder how exactly a man who'd spent almost his entire life underground was so skilled at lacing corsets. "How did you get so darn good at that?" she half asked half gasped.

"So good at what exactly?" Erik seemed honestly perplexed at her question. C.C. rolled her eyes. For being such a genius, the man could be quite dense at times.

"Standing behind people." she drawled sarcastically. Then she turned to face him. "I was referrin' to your amazing competency at lacing up women's corsets."

The Phantom rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously as he answered. "I used to have a friend I helped to dress on occasion."

It took less than a second for the Authoress's phangirl knowledge to attach a name and face to the comment. "Ohmigod!" she practically screamed, causing Erik to jump several feet in the air. "You were in the same room with a half naked Madame Giry!" Her eyes widened to an almost dangerous point. "More than once!"

"How do you know about her?" he growled as he searched her green eyes with his turquoise ones. C.C. was too excited to care and quickly brushed him off.

"Future, remember?" she shot quickly before returning to her regularly scheduled rant/interrogation. "You and. . . I always thought there was something more than they. . .Oh my goodness, did she. . .I mean, did y'all. . .?"

"No," Erik cut her off quickly, "whatever you are implying, no! She is a friend, that's all. Nothing more."

C.C. was not about to give that quickly. This was big. She'd seen some very slaughterous fights break out in chat rooms over this very subject. "But you saw her in nothing but her underwear?" she pressed.

"No! I mean, yes! I mean. . .Damn you!" he sputtered helplessly.

"Hey!" she snapped at him. "Watch your language! I don't wanna have to raise the rating!" Then returning to her former line of questioning, "So, you never actually did anythin'," C.C. paused to grin evilly, "but did you think about doing something?" She leaned toward him expectantly, looking frighteningly similar to a vulture peering expectantly at a quickly dying animal.

"I. . . That is none of your concern." he snarled, regaining his composed and chilling manner. "Now if you don't want your invitation to join me tonight to be revoked, I suggest you drop the topic."

That was the end of it. As much as C.C. wanted to push the issue and ferret out every juicy detail for future gossiping, she wanted to go out haunting more. Slipping her wraith costume over her arm, she began to dig advertently through her large pile of things her monk friend had brought for her. "I know that carnivalé mask has to be here somewhere! There's no way it didn't make the list."

"What list would that be?" Erik asked behind her. By now he ignored most of the girl's odd comments, but occasionally she still peaked his interest.

"Oh," she looked up from her fevered searching, "the list of things I'm gonna need while I'm staying here. I made it for Lo Whi before he came here."

Erik stared at her long and hard. As usual she was making no sense. "How exactly did you know what you would need before you even came here?"

"It's just one of those nifty little time-travelin' paradoxes." The Authoress explained. "Just accept it as fact. Don't try and fathom it. Don't try and deny it. Trust me, it's better that way. I know from experience."

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(Cue Flashback)

The Authoress had just tried to fathom the inner workings of The Terminator. It had led to much confusion and eventually a major cognitive meltdown. She then laid rolling on her floor clutching her head in agony and screaming loudly.

"I'm confuzzled and my brain hurts!" she wailed painfully to the universe.

(End Flashback)

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Erik stared at the girl for a moment with a baffled look on his face, but then decided to let it drop. Trying to understand anything about this curly haired little demoniac was more trouble than it was worth.

"Ah-ha!" C.C. Cried triumphantly as she pulled a small black hatbox from the mountain that was her possessions. Inside was a pretty little half mask that went across the eyes and nose. It was decorated with lacquered sheet music and then expertly painted with gold leafing. She held it up to the light allowing the man next to her to examine it.

"You're not wearing that." Erik stated bluntly, his eyes growing stormy as he gazed at the elaborate mask in the girls hand.

C.C. sighed and turned the mask over in her hand. "I'm afraid I am." she said softly but firmly. "It wouldn't do for half the opera house to see my face if something should happen. You all but said so yourself." The Phantom bit his bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment as he stared intently at absolutely nothing. She was right, but the sight of her little mask reflecting in the candle light seemed to tug violently at his chest. Sensing his unease, C.C. did her best to lighten the mood. "Hey," she said softly as she gave him a playful shove, "get out of here. Just in case I don't get to terrorize anyone I want to have someone to see the Opera's newest ghost make a grand entrance."

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Almost twenty minutes later Erik found himself pacing restlessly across the lair. What was taking her so long? Surely it could not take this long to change one's clothing. He was just about to storm into the back room and see what exactly it was that was holding her up when he heard the sound of the velvet curtains rustling as they were pushed aside. Turning to face her, Erik froze as he caught sight of her, he gaped openly as he stared at what considered a "Haunting Uniform".

Her clothing, if he dared call it that, made a complete mockery of modesty and propriety. Her dress consisted of nothing more than strategically placed strips of black velvet and wisps of red gauze. A single strip of fabric wrapped around her neck and tied at her throat served as a neckline, the ends meeting at the top of a tightly synched black bodice. The skirt was an absolute study of immodestly. Composed of loose strips of fabric that ended in jagged looking points along her thighs, overlapping just enough to not show what lie beneath as she moved. Clinging to her legs was some kind of mesh fabric he could not identify, the weave covered in what appeared to be random slashes. The outfit was topped with a thin crushed velvet cape that lay delicately across her shoulders, it was a deep red that matched the color of the dresses gauze wisps. Her mask glinted in the candlelight, the luminous gold made a striking image against her pale skin and long black curls.

"Well," she asked slyly, giving him a quick twirl, "what do you think?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What I think is that you won't be leaving this house wearing anything of that sort."

C.C. couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Do you have any idea how much you sounded like my mother just now? And might I ask, why exactly I won't be wearing this _out of the house_?" She was baiting him and he knew it, but he couldn't help but respond.

"Do you honestly think they will be frightened a woman dressed such as that. No one is going to pay a moments attention to whatever ever it is you might do, they'll be to busy staring at your. . ." he gestured emphatically at her person.

C.C. couldn't help but giggle. "Do _you_ honestly think," she said between fits of laughter, "that the ballet girls are paying any attention to your threats when you're standing around in pants so tight I want to thud on the spot and then continuously do that heart stopping cape twirl? I'm sure that they're all swooning from, ehem, _fear_."

Again, Erik could only stare gaping at the girl as she fluffed her hair triumphantly and added another score to her tally. "Come on," she said, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and tugging him toward the lake, "rehearsals will be over soon and it'll be no fun to cause mayhem for an empty stage."

Erik consented to being dragged up until the point that they reached the wall near the portcullis. "You know I have other, more convenient exits." he informed her.

"I know, " she said off handedly, "but there is no way you're going to get out of taking me across that lake theme song style at least once. Now," her voice trailed off a bit as she searched the wall with both hands, "where exactly is the trigger for this thing."

Erik gave an exasperated sigh. "Perhaps the large switch over there." C.C. turned several shades of scarlet as she stated at mechanism from the famous lair scene. How could she have forgotten that? She grinned embarrassedly as he walked over and pulled the lever. As the portcullis began to rise Erik brushed past her and began to situate himself in the gondola.

From the shore the Authoress glared dangerously. "Aren't you going to help me in?"she asked acrimoniously.

"I hadn't planned on it, my dear."

For some reason the even manner of his reply managed to bother her more than the idea of having to scramble clumsily into the boat. Putting on a pout full of wide-eyed innocence she pulled out her trump card. "You know," she said innocently, "there are a whole lot of possible things that could happed right now, none of which have a particularly happy ending for you."

It took Erik a moment to comprehend her words. Suddenly his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you threatening me, girl?"

C.C. simply nodded and shrugged her shoulders. "I guess so."

With a growl Erik climbed out of the gondola, grabbed the Authoress about the waist, and dumped her roughly into the boat. "There," he spat as he climbed back in, "you've been helped."

From her seat at the front of the craft C.C. huffed indignantly. "Well, are you at least gonna sing?"

"What?" he barked at her.

"Well," she explained, "every time you're in the gondola in the movie or the play you sing. I think there's no reason to break with tradition."

His voice took an a familiar menacing edge as he glared at her. "Careful, girl, there are a lot of _possible _things that could happen to you as well."

C.C.'s eyes widened. He had just delivered his first potentially credible threat to her. She made a mental note to examine her any food he gave her a little more closely from now on as she settled down for the trip across the lake.

**Oh, well, **her mental voice shot at her, **at least he learning.**

'_Oh, do shut up.'_

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**A/N:** **It's kinda like the last chapter in the sense that nothing really happens, but I wanted to get to out there. I promise the next chapter will focus more on forwarding the there-is-no-plot line. **

_C.C.:_ Okay, the review replies. Ready, Erik?. . . Erik? -drags Muse!Erik out of his closet-

_Muse!Erik:_ -grumbles something about punjabbing-

_C.C.:_ Let's get started then!

**Tathiela**: Hmm... A hat made of tofu? -grabs a block of tofu and forms it roughly into a hat shape- Erik! Get over here! I need you to put this on your head and run around!

_Muse!Erik_: Over my dead body!

_C.C.:_ -glares at him- That can be arranged you know!

**Momnonomous: **A tease? Me? Never! Right Erik?

_Muse!Erik:_ -looks torn- If I call her a tease she'll say I'm playing with her and like it. If I don't call her a tease she'll think I'm agreeing with her and like it. I hate my life!

**mrs. malfoy**: I didn't say that there wouldn't be romance. Just that there wouldn't be romance with me.

_Muse!Erik:_ -rolls eyes- Yes, don't worry, my dear. I will be forced to endure mindless fluff yet.

**pixiestars162: **I would have made this Erik fall in love with me, but two Eriks madly in love with me would be too much, even for a die hard phan like me.

_Muse!Erik:_ What are you talking about? There's no way I'm. . .

_C.C.:_ -shushes him and then puts an arm possessively around him- You can deny it, darling, but we all know the truth.


	9. The Dangers of Haunting an Opera House

A/N: See, I told you I'd get this chapter out faster than the last one. Yay for the weekends afer midterms. No homework and an exhausted mind makes for very humorous situations. Anyway, this chapter I learn that haunting an opera house isn't all roses and dropping backgrounds on people. As always, I hope y'all enjoy.

Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,

SP

_**Disclaimer:** I OWN IT! IT IS MINE! MINE! MY OWN! MY PRECIOUS! Oh, look, nice men in white coats!_

**Chapter 9: The Dangers of Haunting an Opera House**

"Come on!" C.C.'s voice was a whispered hiss as she tugged at Erik's cloak. "Let's get this party started already!" They had sat perched in the catwalks for nearly two hours watching the ballet rehearsals. At first C.C. had sat silently, enthralled by the grace of the dancers' familiar movements, but she had begun to grow tired of just watching.

"Will you be quite?" he hissed back. "We don't want to alert the entire opera house to our presence! It wouldn't be good for the Opera Ghost to be caught crouched in the shadows arguing with an abhorrent little chit of girl such as yourself!"

"Oh, no," she teased, "they'd never catch us doing any such thing." A familiar wicked grin flashed across her face, right before she turned invisible. "They'd catch you arguing with thin air."

"You know," he shot angrily, "someday something will happen that you, in all your obnoxious wisdom, did not prepare for. Then we'll see who's the clever one."

"As if that will ever happen." The Authoress shot back, unintentionally invoking one of the most ancient and powerful of jinxes.

We'll see." Erik said knowingly, "We'll see."

C.C. was saved from having to think up what would have been a less than witty retort by a sudden cacophony erupting from the stage below.

"I am 'ere! We beh starting now, so I can beh leaving! Maestro! Why you taka zo long? I zaid we are a starting NOW!"

Perched in his seat in the heavens, Erik breath escaped him in a little hiss and he cringed noticeably as a flashy Italian woman strode on stage and began to issue orders. Even if she had been deaf, dumb, and blind, C.C. would have instantly been able to recognize the figure. There was only one woman in the world who could make Erik react like that, the Paris Opera's prima donna, La Carlotta.

Watching her swagger about the stage issuing commands, C.C. was reminded instantly of her insane next door neighbor's teacup Chihuahua. The resemblance was uncanny actually. They both seemed to do nothing but strut around yapping and growling harshly, managing to cow everyone in the room with a grating voice, and yet, they were comically pathetic. On the stage below the music began to swell, only to be cut off by yet another of Carlotta's shrieks.

"I am a not being ready yet! Can you be-ah doin' nu'ting right?" she yowled, then turned on her maid, "Where is mah boxy! I vant mah boxy!"

As the maid scrambled to bring Carlotta the ornately carved box containing her breath spray, the two _spirits _watched from above in disgust. "Can we please drop something on her?" C.C. asked through gritted teeth, "Preferably something large and very, _very _heavy."

"No." Erik answered with obvious regret. "We'll not do anything to drastic," then shooting her a conspirative look, "just yet."

"So what's the game plan?" C.C. asked returning his conspiratorial smile. Then off Erik's questioning look, "You do have a plan, don't you?" Erik huffed at the suggestion and with a curt nod leaned over and hastily whispered the plan in the girl's ear.

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A few minutes later C.C. stood invisibly in the wings of the stage. Staring daggers at the lead soprano flouncing about Erik's domain as if it were the she owned it, silently the Authoress tried to devise a way to get her to move behind the stage's back curtains. It was turning out to be harder than she had anticipated. Carlotta, it seemed, did not often stray from center-center. C.C. was about to lose her patients and simply drag the singer off when she noticed a slight movement to her right. One of Carlotta's maids had set down the diva's precious ball of white fuzz that masqueraded as a dog, momentarily abandoning the yappy little dust mop in order to chat with a rather handsome stage hand.

'_Bingo!_' C.C. thought as she snuck soundlessly towards her brainless cotton ball of a victim. However, she got more than she'd bargained for when she pounced upon the poodle. Her memory was jogged violently as she rediscovered the hard way that even the most dim-witted rodents of dogs still have teeth.

"Rah-yap! Ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-yap!" The poodle's shrill and wrawling yips filled the stage as it attempted to sink acanthoid little poodle teeth into it's invisible would-be captor. The tables quickly turning as C.C. tried to flee the pint sized powderpuff of death, forgetting to remain invisible in her haste to escape its slavering little jaws. She ducked and wove through set pieces and dangling counter balances, but it was to no avail. Soon the tiny terror had her backed into a corner with no means of escape. With one last look at the quickly approach ball of fuzz and fury, C.C. closed her eyes and prayed for the mauling to be over quickly.

The Authoress waited for the inevitable rush of pain of pain that would accompany the poodle sinking its needle-like little fangs into her tender flesh, but apparently the all mighty Hugh was smiling upon her that day. Without warning there was a throaty growl, a terrified yip, and the hasty clicking of nails as the demonic little Q-Tip flew off towards the safety of its mistress' arms.

Suddenly C.C. was swooped up in a muscular pair of arms and quickly spirited away. She opened her eyes only to find herself staring up at Erik, snug against his chest as he fled the stage before anyone could investigate the previous commotions.

"Oh, thank Hugh! You. . .you. . . you saved me!" she wailed, throwing her arms around Erik's neck for the second time that day, she shook like a terrified Chihuahua and nearly began to sob as she snuggled into his strong chest.

**Oh, will you STOP THAT! **The voice in her head shouted disgustedly. **You're acting like the biggest Mary Sue to ever disgrace the world of phiction!**

'_I can't help it!' _she mentally sobbed back at it. _'It was gonna. . .was gonna. . .EAT ME!'_

**Oh. Dear Lord! It was a _miniature poodle! _Not a German Pinscher!**

'_It was still. . .'_

C.C.'s thought was cut off as she was deposited roughly back into the gondola. "What were you thinking?" Erik raged at he as he got himself situated. "Or were you even thinking at all? You very well could have ruined everything. This is my kingdom, my world, my _life! _And you almost just cost me _everything_! What do you have to say for yourself?" Shamefully she looked up at him as he nearly shook with fury. He was right. She bit her lip thoughtfully. "Well?" He demanded forcefully.

"Thank you, Erik." she said quietly, her gaze fixing on the floor of the little craft.

"I neither need nor care for your excu. . ." The Phantom raved a moment more before he comprehended the girl's words. "What did you just say?" he asked perplexedly, his voice turning soft as his anger seemed to almost drain away from him.

C.C. looked up at him, their masked gazes met as she caught and held his turquoise eyes with her emerald ones. "I said 'Thank you'," she answered slowly, "and then I called you 'Erik'." Staring deeply and confidently into his uncertain gaze, she continued. "That is your name, isn't it?"

She already knew the answer to the question, every phangirl worth her OLC soundtrack did, that's not why C.C. had asked the question. She was looking for a response, one she awaited anxiously as she searched his conflicted face. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he answered. "Yes," he said softly, tearing his gaze away from hers. "It was once."

"And still is."The Authoress corrected him. "Despite what you have the Paris Opera House thinking, you're still a man." she informed him. Then added, "Trust me on this one." as she stared at the brawny arms that had scooped her up mere moments before.

He eyed her skeptically from behind his mask. Giving a small sigh, the girl continued. "Lesson one," she stated softly yet firmly, "Christine can't love a ghost as a man. She's going to _see _a man before she can love one."

It was Erik's turn the heave a heavy sigh. "Your probably right." his voice was barely above a whisper, but C.C. heard it clearly.

"Of course I am, Erik!" she shot cheerily. "I'm the Authoress! It makes me right by default!"

Smiling despite himself, Erik rolled his eyes dramatically at the girl. They spent the rest of the ride home in companionable silence. There was nothing else left to say and they both knew that anything else would just spoil the moment. Silently C.C. smiled to herself. She and the Opera Ghost were having "a moment." For the first time in what seemed like and eternity, all was good and right with the world.

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_C.C.: _Okay, Erik, are you ready for the review replies?

_Muse!Erik:_ Are _you _ready for a slow painful death?

_C.C.:_ Awwww! He's so cute when he threatens my life! -huggles Muse!Erik. Much to his annoyance.-

**Blonde Charger: **Good to see a familiar face. . .or, well, familiar name anyway. Hmmm. . . "the makings of a great parody". It's not what I was going for, but I think I like it!

_Muse!Erik:_ Oh gods, girl, you're recruiting reviewers from those horrid forums you're always on now! You realize how desperate you're getting for approval.

_C.C.:_ Me? I'm desperate? Remind me again, which one of us is it that's always singing Music of the Night at the widow, trying to entice any girl on two legs into your closet?

_Muse!Erik:_. . .

**MTL: **You have a Leroux!Erik-y type phantom, eh my twin? Muse!Erik's my own special Hugh/Gerik blend. Equipped with Gerik clothing, of course! -drools- Mmmm. . .pants.

_Muse!Erik:_ What is it with you women! You're all bloody well obsessed! The pants and I are not interested in you!

_C.C.:_ Erik! What did I tell you about crushing the dreams of my favourite reviewers? Do you want me to take away your weapons privileges again?

**solitairebbw218: **Hear that, Erik? I incited a snort-induced husband inquiry! -feels all warm and fuzzy inside- Welcome aboard my plot-less madness!

_Muse!Erik: _Well, at least she's married! I can sleep at night knowing that there's one phan out there I won't have to pry forcibly from my pants!

**pixiestars162: **Thanks! I'll try!

_Muse!Erik:_ That review was short enough I can't find anything to insult. My world is all askew.


	10. Extreme MakeOver: Phantom Edition

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay, but Chapter 10! I honestly never though that this would make it past five of six chapters, but here I am at number ten with a group of loyal fans and reviewer, a newfound potential for humour I never knew I had, I even went through a Beta crisis and the story's barely begun! I only hope that you guys continue to stick with me, you're my motivation. And who knows, maybe you'll be around to see ten more chapters of my plot-lacking nonsense! As always, I hope y'all enjoy!

Your Obedient Servant,

SP

_**Disclaimer:**_

_Black ribbon-tied roses are red, _

_A tortured fop turns blue,_

_I do not own Phantom, _

_So please, Andrew, don't sue. _

_Oh, and I don't own any of the PPNers either. To the best of my knowledge they all belong to themselves._

**Chapter 10: Extreme MakeOver: Phantom Edition**

C.C. woke up the next morning to utter silence. Not that the lair was usually Grand Central Station or anything, but that morning it was different. The silence seemed emptier than usual, and heavy, very heavy; she could almost seem to feel it. Slipping out of bed, she dressed quickly and padded out into the main alcove. It was empty.

"Erik?" she called tentatively into the oppressive calm. There was no answer.

Turning, she headed toward the back of the lair, slipping behind the velvet curtain as she entered the dank and gloomy hallways that had been hidden from view on the silver screen. Entering the drab kitchen, she instantly spotted the note lying neatly underneath a cup of quickly cooling coffee.

C.C. smiled down at the red wax seal, always the dramatist Erik hadn't neglected to add the trademark skull. Slipping the note out from under the cup, she ran a fingernail underneath the dried wax, trying to open the letter without breaking the grinning skull seal. Her smile grew wider as she unfolded the note and read what her ghost had written.

_My Dear,_

_Pardon the informality, but you have not yet given me a name to call you by and have yet to prove yourself the "authoress" of anything. _

_I've decided to go out for supplies seeing you've already gone through what little food I had about the place and I don't see if fit to let you starve, yet. Please remain in the house until I return. I don't wish for a disaster such as yesterday's to occur in my absence. You may do as you wish about the house as long as you refrain from disturbing any of my work. I shall return as soon as I can seeing as I fear what "possible" things you might think to do while I'm away._

_My Sincerest Thoughts,_

_Erik_

As she read the name signed at the bottom, C.C.'s smile grew into an audaciously foolish grin. The Opera Ghost was opening up to _her_! She was in the lair, living in the Phantom's universe, holding a note he had written her, a note signed "Erik." She was certain she felt a Squee coming on any moment. Of course, some of her luck with the man might have to do with the fact that this was _her _story, but every phic author and authoress knows that the Phantom rarely bends easily to the will of the writer without the words "OOC" and "Mary Sue" getting involved.

Eyes darting around, the Authoress looked for a proper place to swoon, only to find that there wasn't one to be found. C.C. frowned to herself. The lair really did need some work. The front room was rather pretty in a "Dracula Meets the Price of Darkness" kind of way, but as she looked about her she realized that the rest was barely a step above hovel. The kitchen had nothing but a roughly hewn table, chair, and a single cupboard. The attached pantry was hardly more than a niche hacked into the stone wall. Most of the other rooms back there were rather the same. C.C. had never been into Erik's bedroom, but she some how doubted it was much better than the rest of the rooms hidden behind the velvet curtains.

The place needed work. Badly.

'_Hmm . . . ' _she thought to herself._ 'What would Ty Warner do with the place?'_

**Call in his team for a start. **her mental voice retorted.

'_But I don't have a. . .' _she started before the voice in her head cut her off again.

**It doesn't have to be that way, you dolt! You are the Authoress, aren't you? Do some recruiting! **

'_But where am I going to get . . . ' _suddenly she brightened. _'The internet would work!'_

**You don't have a connection, yet.**

'_I can fix that!_' Dropping to her hands and knees, C.C. crawled around the edge of the room until she found what she was looking for. In the corner, near the floor, was a small glowing portal about six inches across. Swirling blues and purples shimmered across the surface of the vortex as the girl plunged her hand into it. . . and pulled out a phone cord.

'_Wormholes,' _she thought to herself,_ 'gotta love 'em!'_

**Whose line is that? **The Voice asked.

'_I dunno,' _C.C. answered back with a mischievous grin, _'but they're gonna have a heck of a time with their phone for a while.'_

Returning to the front room just long enough to grab her laptop, C.C. hurriedly plugged the phone line into the back and proceeded to sign onto MSN. Wincing at the low battery level, she made a mental note to see how good Erik was at splicing into the opera house's new electrical system they were experimenting with. After connecting to the web, she logged onto her currently favourite forum. (_potophans dot net _if anyone's interested.) After posting a help wanted ad of sorts the Authoress sat back and waited. Once they knew the opportunity was available, most phans wouldn't pass up a chance to cause a little mischief in Erik's lair.

C.C. didn't have to wait more than a few minutes before there was a large "wumph!" sound as if something big had fallen onto the swan bed from a rather great height. Running out of the kitchen, C.C. entered the main room just in time to see a young brunette climb out of the bed, brushing a few stray feathers from her jeans. "Bek!" C.C. squealed before launching herself at the new arrival. "Wow! That was quick! How did you get here so fast?" the Authoress asked as she gripped the Aussie in a spine crushing hug.

"Be . . . the pow . . . ees!" Bek squeaked.

"What?" C.C. asked, bemused, before finally realizing how tightly she was gripping her friend. "Oh!" she said with a start as she released her. "Oxygen. You need it. Right." Her cheeks flushed scarlet for a moment before she asked her question again. "So how did you get here? I only posted the request a few minuets ago!"

"Behold the power of cheese!" the second girl exclaimed, then off C.C.'s confused look, "I was on PPN, saw your post and decided to sign on, but before I did, I thought I'd grab something to eat. There was a big chunk or Swiss cheese in the fridge and I decided to see what would happen if I stuck my finger in one of the holes. Next thing I know I'm landing in a big bed shaped like . . ." Bek's eyes widened as realization struck her, " . . . a swan!" she squealed excitedly. "Squeeeeeeeee! I'm actually in the lair! That means that . . . Erik! Erik's here!"

"Actually he's kinda not." C.C. cut in quickly before Bek got too carried away. "He's out." she half smirked, half smiled, "If he wasn't I doubt you would have lived long enough to get a good Squee in."

"Oh, but what a way to go." Bek sighed. "Getting punjabbed by Erik would be such a happy death."

"But then you wouldn't have lived long enough to help me redo the lair," C.C. countered, "And _then _maybe get a proper introduction . . . eventually."

Bek brightened instantly. "Sounds good to me!" she chirped before dashing off toward the back rooms.

"Where are you going?" C.C. called after he looking rather confused by her friend's sudden action.

"The torture chamber!" Bek tossed over her shoulder with a grin, "It my first project."

The Authoress shook her head and tried to suppress a giggle. "You're goin' the wrong way then. It's four floors up and about a few dozen metres over." Then off Bek's perplexed look she added with an eye roll, "Movie version, remember? Don't ask me what Schumacher was thinkin'."

"Oh, well." the other girl chirped. "I guess I'll just walk a little further then!" Bek started to sprint for the back, but stopped suddenly, "Uh, where is the torture chamber exactly?" she asked sheepishly.

C.C. sighed. "Back behind the curtain, forth entryway on the right. Follow the tunnel for about ten to fifteen minutes then take a left when if forks, being a big room full of mirrors, it's hard to miss." Bek squealed gleefully and then rushed off to make whatever moderations she seemed to find _necessary _to the torturechamber. C.C. shuddered as she thought of how Erik was going to react to this. She didn't have much time to ponder her decision, however, in just a few moments her "crew" would start showing up in earnest.

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"I didn't mean to crush your parsnips! Honest!. . .What the. . .?" C.C. whirled around to catch sight of Blondie, another PPNer, sprawled awkwardly on the floor of the lair. Sitting up she blinked dazedly. "Whoa." she said, "That was some wall I picked to fall over."

C.C. decided not to probe any deeper into her fellow Englander's statement as she walked over and helped the girl to her feet. Dusting herself off in a less than amused fashion, Blondie surveyed the lair. "It's kind of dank,"she observed, "it could definitely use some fresh air, couldn't it?"

"Well, yeah," C.C. answered with a shrug, "the whole five stories underground thing doesn't exactly spell out flowers n' sunshine, but what can you do, ya know?"

"Well actually I was planning on . . . " Blondie's words were cut off by a sudden splash in the lake. "Uh, what was that?" she asked as she peered out over the lake, trying to locate the source of the splash.

"Just another sign up, probably. A lot of us seem to end up entering via the lake, it's not exactly comfortable, but it makes an effective visual." As she finished, C.C. noticed the odd look Blondie was giving her and shrugged indifferently. After all it wasn't her fault she had been born with a flare for dramatics instead of the common sense God usually gave a turnip.

A few moments passed in a rather awkward silence before the girls noticed something wasn't right. There were none of the splashing sounds that usually accompanied someone swimming toward the lair. Their gazes grew worried as they walked hurriedly to the water's edge and scanned the lake for signs of movement. "Do you think whoever it is is okay?" Blondie asked.

"I dunno," The Authoress answered distantly, her eyes still on the lake.

**Go check the replies. **Her mental voice inserted tiredly. It took C.C. a moment realize what the voice in her head was saying, but then rushed toward the kitchen. Blondie followed close behind, a quizzical expression on her face.

"What are you doing?" the grey eyed blonde girl asked.

"Checking the replies to my request on the forum." C.C. replied as she flipped open her laptop. "Whoever's there had to sign up at one point, didn't they?"

"Right!" Blondie watched over the other girl's shoulder as she scrolled down to the section of the forum designated for fan fiction and checked her message. She didn't have to read far to discover the identity of the mysterious lake lurker.

Reading the post, C.C. couldn't decide whether to laugh or sigh dramatically, so she settled for running her finger through her hair as she rose from her computer and headed back toward the main alcove. Standing on the edge of the lake, she yelled out over the water. "Erik's not here!" she shouted. "Sorry hon, but he can't really swim out and save you if he ain't around!"

"I'll wait!" Came the reply form across the lake.

C.C. couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Mia!" she called back. "Get your butt over here before you drown or catch pneumonia or something! I couldn't stand the thought of the death of another opera fan. And besides, you've got an Erik of your own at home who just might just render me into itty-bitty pieces if I sent you home anything less than alive, and I love me way too much for that!"

"Uhhh!" Mia protested in response, but almost immediately after the distinct sounds of someone swimming toward the entrance of the lair could be heard. A few minutes later the sopping wet teen crawled out of the lake, there was a scowl on her face as though she couldn't decide whether she wanted to glare or pout. Wringing out her ponytail she turned to face the other two girls. "Alright then!" she said with a small smile.

Returning the smile, C.C. took Mia by the arm and led her toward the back room where she kept her things. "Come on, I have some sweats that might fit you. You might have to roll them up a few inches," she said, remarking on the fact that Mia was nearly five inches shorter than herself, "but our build's not too different, so they might work. Anythin' has got to better then sittin' around in soaking wet things." Mia quickly nodded her assent and followed the Authoress behind the velvet curtain.

C.C. hadn't walked more than a few feet when she nearly smacked into Yavanna, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

"Oh my Hugh!" C.C. breathed. "You scared me!"

Yavanna grinned at her. "You know," she said, "I don't know exactly when they installed the setting for nineteenth century Paris in the elevator at my sister's place, but I am definitely not complaining. The communist road is all messed up, though, I could hardly make heads or tails of it."

"Movie version." C.C. explained for what would probably be the second of many, many times.

"I thought you were a fan of Leroux phics." Yavanna half asked, half accused.

C.C. smiled guiltily. "I am, but I couldn't resist being in the lair with the wearer of the Don Juan pants." Around her, the growing group of girls all nodded dreamily.

Yavanna was the first to snap out of whatever little phantasy had been playing in her head. "So, are we going to get going on this before a certain masked musical genius shows up and wrings out necks?" she quipped.

A rather startled expression on her face, C.C. looked up. "Huh?" she asked dazedly before returning fully to the there and then. "Oh, right. Um . . . as y'all can see, the place needs a renovation or two. Pretty much anything you need or want is probably somewhere in the huge pile my junk in the last room on the left. Just dig through it until you find what you need. So, yeah, go nuts. Oh, and if you value your lives I'd stay away from the organ and Erik's bedroom, he gets kinda touchy about them."

After the group stood around awkwardly for another moment, Yavanna was again the one to break the silence. "I'll start with the kitchen." she said. "I'm thinking a sunny yellow colour."

"Great." C.C. said, going into the director mode she used when organizing the tech crew at her university's theatre. "You might have to put a layer of drywall down first, but that's easier than it might look. Blondie, you said you had, er, _something _going, feel free to get started on that. The torture chamber's covered, Bek's already in there workin' on it. And I need to get you," she said as she turned to the dripping Mia, "those dry clothes. Does that about cover it so far?"

"Works for me." Blondie said as she and Yavanna left to go about their respective projects. C.C. led Mia into the back room where she kept her stash. After receiving a remark about her utter lack of organizational skills, C.C. left the other girl to change. She headed back toward the main alcove, she figured if there had ever been a time to flop on the swan bed and sigh, it was then. No such luck, apparently the PPN invasion still in full swing.

When she reached the alcove, C.C. found a slightly older boy leaning against the bed she had just moments before been dreaming on flinging herself on. "Hey, FAB," she called as she approached both the boy and the bed, "would you mind movin' for a minute?"

FAB gave her a questioning look and stepped back from the bed as the Authoress decided that his presence was no need to abandon her Throw-Self-On-The-Bed-And-Sigh-Spectacularly plan. The perfectly executed manoeuver got her another look from the boy behind her. "That was dramatic." he said a little awkwardly.

"Blame it on my mother's genes!" C.C. answered, burying her face in a pillow.

"Speaking of dramatics, has my sister shown up yet?" FAB asked, forcing C.C. to look up from her histrionic bout of sulking.

"She's in the back changing her clothes." she answered. This earned her a raised eyebrow, necessitating her to elaborate. "She showed up in the lake hoping to fulfill every phangirl's phantasy of getting rescued, but Erik's not here right now so all she got out of it was wet clothing."

"That's my little sister for you," he said with a bit of a smirk, "always a Drama Queen."

"I heard that!" Came Mia's voice from the back of the lair, causing C.C. to giggle.

FAB only shrugged. "It's the truth."

C.C. was saved from having to try and think of something witty to say by a flash of brilliant blue light. Suddenly a girl appeared wearing a broomstick skirt and a Happy Bunny T-shirt, she glanced around her, looking more than a little bit dazed and confused. "Masque!" C.C. squealed, instantly hopping up from the bed and running over to the new arrival. "Yay! It worked! I knew I'd find a way to get my twin slash beloved reviewer on here!"

Masque blinked bewilderedly. "Um, C.C.? What am I doing in the lair? I mean, normally I would squee to be here, but, uh, yeah. How exactly did I get here?"

"Oh, that! It was NASA's new satellite dish." C.C. explained. "There was this big malfunction that somehow managed to transport you here and vaporize my muse's pants." Masque continued to look confused. "Well," the Authoress clarified, "I wanted you here for my first cameo chapter, and I promised another one of my reviewers that I would have at least one _actual _case of an Erik getting his pants vaporized at some point."

"Oh." Masque said. "I are getting it now. So, how are things going?"

"Great. I'm redoing the lair while Erik's away and needed a little help, so I called in a few friends of mine."

"I guess that would explain the guy wandering around dressed all modern like." Masque said, gesturing towards FAB who had moved away from the swan bed and was inspecting a few of the things scattered around the room.

C.C. smacked herself in the head with the heel of her palm. "Oh, right, I forgot you don't know everyone! Hold on a sec." momentarily turning away from Masque she called "Hey FAB! Be a dear and come meet my twin!"

On the other side of the room, FAB looked up from the marble bust he had been messing with and trotted over to where the two curly haired girls were standing. "Masque, FAB. FAB, Masque." C.C. gestured between the two of them as a brief means of introduction.

"Hiya!" Masque said in the chipper bordering on insane way both she and the Authoress were prone to.

"Uh. . .hi." FAB offered, looking between the two girls. "You're C.C.'s twin?"

"Only in the sense that we have the same variant of insanity and are sound-a-likes." C.C. interjected quickly, having forgotten that just because she knew something, it didn't mean that everybody else did.

"We're also each other's loyal reviewers." Masque put in.

"Oh, and our Eriks have been spending a lot of time talking together recently." C.C. added. "Muse!Erik says that they're just discussing muse stuff, but I think there's something going on that I don't know about."

"How is Muse!Erik, by the way?" Masque asked offhandedly.

"Well," C.C. thought for a moment, "considering that I just arranged to have his pants vaporized, I'm going to guess that he's a little on the cranky side. You know how touchy Eriks get about their pants." She and Masque exchanged a knowing glance and nodded at each other. "Anywho," the Authoress continued, "I think that the rest of the girls are all in the kitchen area. FAB, could you take Masque back there," she gestured towards the curtain," and introduce her around while I stay back here to intercept any new arrivals?"

"Sure." The two headed off towards the back. They were almost to the curtain when FAB stopped for a moment. "Oh, C.C., do you have a spot where I can set up my computer?" he called over his shoulder.

"Already beat you to it." C.C. called back. "My laptop's set up in the kitchen. If you can get to it before Yavanna puts you to work, feel free to do pretty much whatever, I doubt you could do any more damage to it then my little cousins."

As the other two disappeared behind the curtain, C.C. began to wander around awkwardly wondering who would show up next and if there would have to be any damage control. So far the PPNers had shown up in interesting, but other wise non-damaging, ways, but whenever a large group of the happy phans got together something was destined to end up exploding. Not to imply that the site was stuffed full of happy little pyromaniacs or anything, but, like herself, many seemed to follow a "dramatic entrance first, damage control later" approach to things. It was only a matter of time before. . .

"Hey, guys! Look who just who decided to fall pickup truck first into the torture chamber with me!" From her spot in the main alcove, C.C. could hear Bek's voice as the girl reentered the lair.

**Pickup truck? **C.C.'s mental voice asked worriedly. **That can't be a good thing.**

'_Agreed.' _The Authoress thought back before rushing off towards the back rooms.

Reaching the kitchen in what must have been record time, C.C. shouldered her way past a couple people in order to get a good look at the newcomer. Allison, a young brunette who sometimes went by the name Arty, sat at the table, a guilty grin plastered on her face. "Hey, C.C.! I, uh, brought my own tools!" she blurted hastily as she caught sight of the older girl entering the room.

"And a truck apparently." C.C. said, trying hard to sound stern, but smiling despite herself. "At least tell me you didn't hit the mirrors?" she asked hopefully.

"Nope!" Bek assured her. "It was a straight drop accompanied by swirling lights and flashing electricity. It was quite pretty actually. Accept for the part where I was almost squished by a falling truck, I didn't appreciate that part as much."

"Sorry 'bout that." Allison said with an apologetic smile.

Having assessed the damage and greeted Allison, C.C. left the kitchen to return to her post. She had just reached the curtain when she noticed an odd smell in the air. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it was. . .chlorine. But then, why would the lair smell like chlorine? In the next few seconds the air seemed to grow unbearably heavy while C.C. struggled to remember if someone on the boards had ever mentioned chlorine.

C.C. nearly jumped out of her skin as the sound of an electric crack reverberated through the room. She spun just in time to see a blue eyed blonde seemly just "pop" into existence on the lakeshore. C.C. could have hit herself. That's where she remembered chlorine, Spork was always going on about her antics on her school's swim team.

Spork took a moment and looked calmly between the lair herself and the lake, then she proceeded to have a "panic attack" and begin ripping off every piece of clothing she was wearing except her undergarments all while squealing some strange form of gibberish that seemed to be composed primarily of "ohmigod"s and squees.

Realizing how very quickly the situation could go down hill, C.C. immediately rushed over to the Texan and tried to stop her rather frenzied. . . disrobing. "Oh no, no, no! He's not here, Spork! I really don't want to know what it is you're planning, but whatever it is, Erik's not here!" The Authoress had used her keen grasp of the obvious to deduct that, considering they were in the lair, the girl's behaviour had something to do with the Phantom, so she tried the most obvious approach she could think of. Unfortunately for C.C., Spork was far to busy concentrating on her "hysteria" and jumping into the lake to pay attention to a single word she was saying. In light of this fact, C.C. decided to try a different, although rather ineffectual, approach: frenzied repetition.

"No! Spork, Sporky, Sporkifina, this is _not _good! Clothes are good! This is not! No, no, no, no, _NO!_ Hey, that's a really cute panty set, I mean, _no! _Clothes are better! Does this look like a SI shoot to you? Get out of there before other people. . ."

"What's going on out. . ._whoa!_"C.C. turned around to see the other seven of her "crew members" huddled at the entrance of the alcove, all in various stages of shock, (or rather shameless gawking as the case might have been for one German boy in his early twenties who shall remain unnamed.)

"Too late." C.C. finished dumbly, throwing her arms up in defeat and frustration. However, the incident seemed to one positive effect. It appeared that Spork thought staging a panic induced drowning incident was far less fun when surround by eight people who all happened to _not _be Erik.

"Hi guys!" she said, grinning and blushing in the waist-deep water. "How's it going?" Luck for her she was saved by one of the embarrassment saving moments that happen seem to happen oh so often in the lair.

As it had a few minutes before the air grew heavy. There was a charge to it that seemed to play off everybody's skin and make it harder to breathe. There was another sudden and loud crack accompanied by a flurry of electrical charges, then as suddenly as it had started everything stopped and returned to its former state, with the exception that the group was now plus another member.

Katie stood in the centre of the alcove, her short black hair on end as it snapped with trace amounts of residual electricity. She giggled quietly to herself for a moment. "Look out European energy crisis." she said to no one in particular. "If I just built up enough static electricity speed typing phiction to time travel. . ." she let the statement hang and simply grinned pridefully.

After a moment of disconcerting silence, (see, it wasn't awkward this time!) C.C. slipped back into Director Mode. "Okay then," she said looking around to each member of the group, "I think we're all here then. I guess we should get started before Erik gets back and makes arrangements for us all to meet the siren. Does everyone have an idea of what they want to do?"

"I call looting, I mean _rearranging _Erik's pants!" Masque exclaimed from the back.

"I'm filling the lake with rubber duckies." Bek offered.

"I was thinking I might burn a few things." Katie said offhandedly.

C.C. sighed and resisted the urge to throw something. She wondered briefly if this is how Erik had felt since she had shown up on his, er, doorstep three days before. Oh well, insanity she could deal with. After all, she was just as insane, if not more so, as the rest of them. For better of for worse this was her crew. It was bound to be and interesting day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: There you have it! The longest chapter I've ever written for anything, including the novel I'm trying to find a publisher for. The PPN invasion is going to last for approximately two chapters, this and the next, but who knows with me?**

**affirmedhope:** Hey, Bek! Glad you got over your fear of reviews and decided to give us a shout-out! It's always great to get some feedback from someone I "know!" Please continue to keep reading, people like you are the reason I started this phic in the first place. -huggles Bek- And, I can't take credit for that disclaimer. It belongs to MasqueradingThroughLife who was nice enough to let me borrow it. All the rest of them are mine, though.

_Muse!Erik:_ -gags- Will you give the touchy-feely stuff a rest, my dear, before I get "huggle" induced diabetes!

**Trier1974: **You can't believe how glad and relieved I am that you liked the way I did the "name" scene. I had originally written it rather goofy and farcical, but it didn't seem right. I laboured over the decision to replace it for days. It really means a lot to me to hear someone's approval.

_Muse!Erik:_ There you go again! You're getting soft, girl, far too soft! This calls for me to go above and beyond the call of my usual muse-ly duties. -braces himself- Ehem, last night I went through your hard drive and deleted all your screencaps and audio files of Hugh Panaro and Gerard Butler. Those pansies are the last thing you should be drooling over if you want to write me properly!

_C.C.: _YOU WHAT! -suddenly a purple light saber appears in her hands-

_Muse!Erik:_ My work here is done. -eyes the lightsaber nervously-

**M.T.L.:**Glad you enjoyed it! Yes, Muse!Erik tends to get a little touchy whenever I even think about drooling over Gerik. He stalks around the house for hours mumbling something along the lines of. ". . .can't sing. . . . isn't even deformed properly . . . blasted grease burn is all . . . if I ever get my hands on him . . . " Then I'm forced to make him sit down and have a long talk about his feelings. After all, it's bad for your health to keep things all bottled up inside! -smiles evilly- Oh, and I got your email, but one of our accounts wouldn't let me respond. Don't worry though, I got your profile and you'll still get your cameo.

_Muse!Erik:_ -grumbles something about falling backdrops- -whispers- Hey, MY-Erik, the first meeting of the secret anti-authoress society is tonight. There's a torture chamber I just had installed in the basement that _the girl _doesn't know about. A little cramped, but it will do for headquarters for now.

**Seized Sanity: **Rubber ducks . . . now there's an idea . . .

_Muse!Erik:_ Oh, no. Whatever you're thinking, no. I'm your muse and it is strictly forbidden!

_CC:_ -aches an eyebrow-

_Muse!Erik_: Uh . . . please?

**Momnonomous: **Lose my patients? Me? I have the patients of a saint!

_Muse!Erik:_ Ha! Maybe if said saint was four years old and hopped up on sugar.


	11. The Invasion Continues

A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay, I didn't mean to abandon my little band of faithful readers, but you know how it goes. Stupid life thingy! Between university classes, ( Triple major. Go me!) helping a friend of mine move, the holiday, and a minor computer crash. . .anywho, a new chapter of delightful madness! As always, I hope y'all enjoy!

Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,

SP

_Disclaimer: (in the spirit of post Christmas phestivity. . .) And though it's been said many times, many ways. . . Idon'townitsonoonesueme! _

**Chapter 11: The Invasion Continues **

"I'm telling you it should be a sunny yellow."

"No way! A nice earthy colour!"

C.C. watched Yavanna and Spork argue over which colour to paint the kitchen. She thought briefly about intervening, but knew that spats over furniture, colour, and the like were a normal occurrence whenever large groups of girls redecorated anything and that it would work itself out soon enough. She was right, after another minute or so of bantering the two decided on a butter yellow with some other muted highlights.

The attempt to reforge the lair seemed to be going well so far. Mia was happily deciding what kind of furnishings she wanted while Allison, using an amazing amount of skill C.C. never would have thought she possessed, had tapped into the opera house's experimental electricity system and was actually wiring the lair. Apparently her father worked a lot on houses and she had picked up quite a few handy talents. Bek, Masque, and Katie were all off in a corner with their heads together conspiring to commit whatever mischief they could while still living to tell about it. Blondie was somewhere doing. . .whatever it was she was doing, while FAB had snuck off with the computer, trying to find a corner of the lair where he could hide and play video games instead of being forced to do whatever heavy lifting the girls didn't feel like doing.

Leaving the other girls to work on the kitchen and other back rooms, C.C. returned to the front alcoves and began attempting to straighten up the jumbled mess. No, 'jumbled mess' was an understatement, That would be how one would describe your average bachelor pad or teenager's room. Erik's lair looked as though it had been hit by some new species of tornado that made a typical storm looks like a warm summer breeze. Everything was scattered everywhere. Erik seemed to know where everything was, but he had simply memorized the chaos.

C.C. felt the neatness gene inherent in every girl over the age of thirteen kick into full gear as she collected books, papers, music, and everything else under the sun off the floor and crude rock shelves and began to formulate a possible way to organize it all. She stopped momentarily to glare at the masses of curtains and tapestries that probably hadn't been beaten out in years. The whole structure, while amazing if you were an Anne Rice junky, just didn't strike the Authoress as the proper conditions for wooing an overly naive chorus girl.

With her now trademark dramatic sigh, she took stock of what exactly she had to work with. The almost crudeness of the rocky walls would make it hard to do anything serious, but there was definite potential to be had. Or, at least, she thought there might be potential, all she needed was a little insanity induced creativity to get the ball rolling. She didn't have to wait long.

"Mortar! Score!" Not quite knowing what to make of the sudden outburst from the back wing, C.C. rushed back to find Spork clutching several bags of dark grey powder. "Life is good!" she exclaimed as she beamed winningly at the Authoress. C.C. stared at her with a bemused expression on her face. Figuring it was best not to question her friend, C.C. followed Spork back to the kitchen. She'd get an explanation soon enough.

Twenty minutes later Spork stood in the centre alcove with Allison, who was proving to be quite invaluable, avidly discussing plans for the huge stone fireplace they were planning to build. "Well," Allison explained, "We could probably run it up to the main passage by the spiral staircase. No one should notice since even Madam Giry refused to go down past the second level."

"Um, how exactly are you going to run it up to anything?" C.C. asked warily. In response the girls simply pulled out a matching pair of sledge hammers. The Authoress looked torn between panic and insane glee at the idea of breaking a hole in the ceiling, she finally settled for an answer of "Sorry I asked." before turning away to tend to other matters. Other matters such as the newest arrival.

"What am I wearing?"

The sudden shout from another alcove made everyone jump. It wasn't the sudden appearance of yet another person that caused the start. It was the location of that aforementioned appearance. The shout had come from behind a very unassuming, but important velvet curtain from a very unassuming, but important alcove where a less then unassuming and _very _important mannequin was housed.

C.C., Spork, and Allison all shared a look and a unanimous "Uh-Oh." as the auburn haired Sunday stormed out of the alcove clad in The Wedding Dress, wig, and a pair of ruby slippers. Tearing the wig from her head, Sunday shook her hair loose and looked about herself, beaming. "Well," she said brightly, "that takes care of getting rid of the doll!"

C.C.'s face paled as she peered behind Sunday and confirmed that the Christine doll was truly gone. "Um, Sunday?" The Authoress asked her nervously, "Where did Erik's Creepy Doll o' Obsession go? Not that I'm not happy to see it go, but. . ." she let the sentence hang as she nibbled delicately at a finger nail.

Sunday regarded her for a moment before simply shrugging her shoulders. " I traded places with it, it's much easier to substitute matter then create it. I'm sure it's back with my harem of Eriks as we speak. A bit of a treat for them, even those who prefer their Christines blonde."

"What are they. . ." Allison started to ask before thinking better of it. "Never mind, I don't want to know." she finished. After all, some things are better left unknown.

"Do you have any proper clothing?" Sunday's sudden question brought the girls' back from the rather interesting place their minds had been heading as she picked at the gown she was still wearing.

"I, uh, have some sweats and stuff in the back." C.C. offered offhandedly. Her suggestion earned her an almost disdainful stare before she remember that in Sunday's little sub-parallel universe only the most fashionable Victorian wear would do. "There's a closet in the room with the, well, mounds of stuff back past that curtain over there." she amended. "There's nothing fit for a ball or anything, but there are a couple of nice evening dresses."

Several hours with little to no significance passed by in the lair. The ceiling was bashed a little, the fireplace was, set, built, and left to dry, the kitchen had been painted. Allison finished wiring for lights and basic electricity. The mirrors were washed, their covers beaten throughly and replaced, the furniture and candelabras were polished, and general organization had occurred. Sunday had transformed the alcove that had held the Christine doll in to a cozy reading nook complete with a plush seat and several of Erik's sketches of Christine hanging framed on the walls.

Sunday and Mia were curled up on the bed exhausted by the amount of effort they had put in. Behind them, Yavanna was painting a lovely circular mural of a garden on the wall surrounding the bed. Blondie still hadn't reappeared from doing. . .whatever it was she was doing, but C.C. wasn't overly worried, she'd show up sooner or later. Everyone else sat around the library munching contentedly on junk food from The Stash, as C.C.'s now organized collection of stuff had come to be called, swapping stories of how they'd found their way into nineteenth century France.

"You were playing in traffic?" Masque asked, eyeing Spork as she recounted her tale. Spork simply nodded and went on with her narration.

"Well, I'd already taught myself to write left handed, learned the alphabet in. . .sixteen different languages, and," she shuttered briefly, "did my homework. So I decided to go dodge some eighteen wheelers."

"Sounds like fun actually!" Masque added randomly.

"Anyway," Spork continued, "on the way I just happened to find an irrational particle accelerator, a liquid lunch, and a pair of rubber bands. I figured they could be amusing at a later date so I put them in my backpack that had just appeared out of the gaping plot hole. I guess they got jostled or something, 'cuz now I'm here."

"What about you, FAB?" Bek asked, throwing a Jaffa Cake at him as he sat distractedly in the corner. The biscuit hit him square in the chest before he neatly snatched it up.

"I was looking for my sister at her university. There was no one in the lab, so. . ."

Katie, Bek, and C.C. shared a knowing look. "You fiddled." they finished for him. FAB simply nodded. The three girls grinned at each other and proceeded to tell _their_ version of _his_ story, although they were probably just saying what they would have done themselves if left alone in a university lab full of intersecting things to meddle with.

"Let me guess. . ."

"There was a lovely looking machine. . ."

"Way back in the corner. . ."

"With all sorts of gizmos. . ."

"And flashy coloured lights. . ."

"And a big red button. . ."

"That said 'Do Not Push'. . ."

"Which, of course. . ."

"Was way too interesting to pass up!"

As the account was finished, all five girls in the room broke into insane laughter while FAB simply looked about a bit sheepishly.

Their laughter was broken off by a sudden growl from the other side of the lair. The girls looked as if they were deciding whether to be terrified of elated. Taking a deep breath C.C. smiled brightly at the group. "Erik's home!" she said cheerfully. As one the girls shot up and dashed towards the front with a massive, ear bursting Squee.

"What in the name of hell is going on here?" Erik demanded as they skidded to a halt in the main alcove.

Noticing the Punjab Lasso poised in his hands, C.C. walked up and deftly wrestled the weapon from his grasp. He resisted, of course, but after having as much practice as she had disarming her muse back home, he didn't pose that much of a challenge and she soon was clutching the noose to her chest, scolding him like a misbehaving child.

"Is that anyway to behave guests?" she chided sternly.

"Guests? You call these _intruders _to my home guests?" He snarled back.

"Yes, I do."

"Well, get them out!"

"Eventually."

"Now!"

"No."

"Get them out now or I'll. . .what are you doing to my leg?" While C.C. and her Phantom had been arguing, Masque had managed to sneak up behind him in hopes of carrying out what every phangirl thought to be her Divine Right: Erik petting.

Unfortunately for Erik, he had in that moment done the one thing you should never do in the face of a pack of rabid phangirls: show fear. They were on him in a flash. Erik started only to find himself held in place by several nuzzling, petting, snuggling phangirls with rather. . ._friendly _hands. The commotion soon brought the other three girls from the bed chamber and they eagerly joined in the fray. Only C.C. and FAB stood back, feeling sorry for the masked man before them, but far too smart then to try and get between a phangirl and an Erik snuggle. Finally C.C. figured it was time to call them off.

"Come on, girls!" she called, "If you suffocate him, he'll die. And that will be sad." There was a unanimous chorus of "Awwwww!", but the girls all began to peel of the Phantom one by one, most giving one last pet or strategically placed squeeze.

Erik looked a little worse for wear. His clothing was dishevelled and his eyes darted around a bit wildly. C.C. couldn't help but grin as she tossed him back his lasso. "Here," she called, "but you have to play nicely or I'll take your toy away again." Erik glared in return.

After the commotion finally settled, the girls began to watch the now armed Phantom with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. None of them were quite sure how he'd react to any of their. . .well, most of them were improvements, anyway. It didn't get off to a good start.

"What exactly is _this_?" Erik growled, holding up a small rubber duck. For a moment C.C. simply stared at the little yellow creature. Slowly she allowed her gaze to wander of to the lake, her worst fears were then confirmed. Floating on the water were hundreds of little rubber duckies, their cheerful yellow colour glaring against the dark water. C.C. turned to face Bek, the Aussie was staring intently at her feet, fidgeting slightly as she attempted to avoid the Authoress' look.

"I thought you were joking!" C.C. exclaimed.

Bek grinned sheepishly in response. "Don't tell you hadn't thought about it yourself."

C.C. opened her mouth and then quickly closed it again, Bek had a point. The room fell into an awkward silence. Erik glared about the room, clutching his lasso as he eyed the girls warily. The majority of the girls eyed him back, all looking very much like some kind of predator you see on those Nature Chanel specials. Bek continued to look about sheepishly and C.C. looked torn between giving her a high five and strangling her. The silence grew more and more profound. Finally it was broken by a shriek.

"Moles! They're everywhere! Moles!" Blondie came streaming out of the back section of the lair. Skidding to a halt in the middle of the main alcove, glancing about self-consciously as she realized that all eyes were trained upon her. "You know," she attempted to sound casual, "you really should do something about the mole population down here."

With that the ice was broken. The girls resumed their regularly scheduled drooling as they led Erik around the apartment, showing him all the improvements and occasionally sneaking in a sly pet here and there. Mia, Masque, and Sunday seemed particularly good at the art of subtle groping, but they all had Eriks of their own back home and thus had gotten in a lot of practice. Erik continued to keep a close eye on them all, gazing at them as though simultaneously gauging their sanity and searching for a sign they were about to attack. Sadly for him they in fact had little to no sanity to speak of and were likely to attack at any moment. Once C.C. figured he had suffered enough at the hands of her fellow phangirls she gently shoved Erik at FAB and allowed the two to disappear into the back with the computer, the girls all sulk horribly.

"Why does my brother get to have all the fun?" Mia pouted

"Because I can leave them in a room together without having to worry about Erik being tied down and missing half his clothing when I get back." The Authoress stated deadpan.

"She does have a point." Yavanna commented idly. They all knew there was nary a phangirl who could be trusted alone with a Phantom. C.C. herself didn't know what would happen if she wasn't such a strong Erik/Christine shipper. It was like being kids in a candy store. They all knew that they were supposed to look and not touch, but what self-respecting kid actually followed that rule when left alone in a candy store?

The girls moped around the front chambers for several minutes chatting about nothing and straightening things that had already been straightened. Finally, C.C. couldn't take it any longer. "All right," she sighed, "go get him."

There was a unanimous cry of "SQUEEEEEEEEE!" as the girls tore off in the direction Erik had exited. It was followed shortly by a sound that, had it been uttered by anyone but Erik, might have been described as a shriek.

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Many hours and much rejoicing later the girls began to think of improbable, yet possible ways to get home. They departures held little of the drama of their arrivals, but C.C. continued to be amazed at exactly how many ways the space time continuum could tear. The girls all gave C.C. a fond hug and few words before turning to Erik for a slightly more. . .lingering goodbye. And then they'd be gone, through whatever tear or freak accident they could think of to convey themselves home.

When they were finally all gone, she turned to Erik. "Well, that was fun!" she chirped.

"It certainly was an experience." He said dryly.

"What?" she teased. "You didn't like my friends? They were certainly friendly enough!" she couldn't manage to stifle a small giggle at memory. Erik was not amused.

"The only one of them that did something other then try and fondle me chatted incessantly about something called Star Wars and someone named Laura Croft."

C.C. giggled harder. "I don't doubt it." Finally managing to sober herself she added, "Okay. I won't send out return invitations any time soon."

"Thank you." Erik sighed, exasperated, before turning to lock himself in the library.

The Authoress looked about the newly remodeled lair. It really was quite the improvement. In fact, she thought it was almost time to introduce another character or two. It wouldn't be that much longer until it was time for the entrance of a particular little brunette soprano.

**A/N: There it is. And good news. I have the next three chapters already written so there won't be another huge wait for the next one. Please review. Reviews feed my Eriks ego, which leads to him being a more muse-ly muse, which leads to more chapters! Just remember, no flames. I'm not supposed to play with fire since the. . .incident. **

_Muse!Erik:_ -storms in pantless- You did this! I know it! When I get my hands on you. . .!

_C.C.:_ You can't kill me, remember? You'd cease to exist.

_Muse!Erik:_ There are plenty of things I could do to you without causing fatality.

_C.C.:_ Oh! Lookie there! Reviews to reply to! Shame, we'll have to finish this conversation later, _much _later.

**MTL:** Glad you liked. . um, you. I just had you say whatever I probably would have said in your place. ;)

_Muse!Erik:_ -rolls his eyes indignantly- Yes, why have one increasingly annoying, and might I add mentally unstable, authoress roaming about the lair when you can have two. The things we muses put up with in order to exist!

**Affirmed Hope**: I doubt Erik will take it very well, but then again you never know!

_Muse!Erik: _Yeah, what self-respecting Opera Ghost would take well to his torture chamber. . .

_C.C.:_ -banishes light saber again- No spoilers!

**Blonde Charger:** Hear that, Erik? She called me a wonder!

_Muse!Erik:_ She must have been. . .

_C.C.: _She also specifically mentioned that you're not allowed to contradict her on the subject.

_Muse!Erik_: -huffs-


	12. O Mightiest of Ghosts

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. I just borrow it and then hide from the lawyers._

**Chapter 12: O Mightiest of Ghosts, I Beseech Thee**

Erik was composing. Translation: C.C. had been robbed of her only company for several hours and was bored out of her mind. She had learned quickly that when Erik was composing he was dead to the world. She could have danced naked around the lair and his obsessive gaze would have never left the staff paper. Not that she'd ever tried dancing around the lair naked, but now that she thought about it. . .

Snapping her mind out of the gutter, she focussed on the problem at hand. She was bored and couldn't think of anything to do about it. She was restless and didn't have the focus for a movie, book, or art work. And Erik would never let her out of the lair on her own. She would get within a few metres of the door and he'd. . .do absolutely nothing.

The Authoress bounded to her feet as the realization hit her. Erik was composing, he no more notice her leaving quietly then he had noticed anything else the past few hours. Slipping on her, dress, mask, and cape she slunk carefully out one of the many back entrances she had discovered during her stay.

Within five minutes she was hopelessly lost. Not just a little lost, mind you. Hopelessly and completely Send-A-Search-Party-Before-I-Die-Of-Exposure lost.

**I thought you knew your way around the Paris Opera. **Her mental voice chided.

'_I **do **know my way around the Paris Opera house!'_ she thought back, _'This, however, is **not **the Paris Opera House. **This **is an impossible labyrinth made by the insanely twisted minds of Andrew and Joel. And they weren't exactly nice enough to leave a map for any time travelling phans who decided to drop in!' _

**Touche**. It conceded.

Having reached a particularly dark stretch of tunnel, C.C. was forced to slide one hand firmly along the wall to find her way. In most situation applying this method of pathfinding was a simple and easy way to keep from landing on you hind end in a dark mildewy tunnel. Unfortunately for her, stalking through a secret labyrinth in an opera house riddled with ingenious trap doors was not most situations. There was a sickening click as the Authoress felt a small section of the stone beneath her fingers depress slightly._ 'Uh-oh.'_ she thought to herself just before that portion of the wall swung inward and dumped her roughly onto a rafter beam several feet below.

Clinging to the wood beam in an attempt not to plummet to the stone ground of what was apparently a long forgotten costume storage room, C.C. hardly noticed the startled gasp that came from the young girl below her. It wasn't until the blonde spoke that C.C. realized her existence.

"Who. . .who's there?" The little ballerina stammered.

"Meg?" C.C. asked, still a little dazed by the drop and subsequent clinging for her life.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" Meg asked, turning several shades paler then C.C. thought was humanly possible.

"I'm a friend of a friend of your mother." she answered dryly. "And you can stop looking for me, little Giry. I'm quite invisible." And she was, for the moment.

Meg gasped again, but didn't stop her incessant search of the room, peering behind racks of old costumes and up at the rafters. The Authoress found herself fighting to keep from rolling her eyes. "Haven't you ever heard that the ghost sometimes calls for a footstool for a lady friend?" It was a shot in the dark. C.C. didn't know exactly how much the universe of the book had bled into the movie universe, but she thought she'd give it a try. The shot hit home and Mag gave a little squeak as she stopped her search.

"I take it you've heard of me?" C.C. asked as she fought not to giggle.

"Yes, Madame Opera Ghost!" Meg stammered below her.

Pressing an invisible hand to her mouth in a classic 'I'm dramatically aghast!' look, C.C. snapped back at the little blonde ballerina. "Madame? How old do you think I am? For Hugh's sake, girl! Madame, indeed!"

Although C.C. had thought it was impossible for the little Giry to tremble any more then she had moments before, the Authoress was about to be proved wrong. "I. . .I. . .I'm sorry!" she spluttered helplessly. "I merely assumed that you and. . .I mean that. . .Are you and the Opera Ghost not married?"

C.C. couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter. Beneath her Meg cringed as if wondering what kind of blunder she might have made. "Me. . .and _him_?" C.C. gasped between gales of laughter. "Oh, honey! I wish!" Below her Meg gave a sheepish yet guarded smile, relieved to have dodged a bullet, but still wary that the other shoe was yet to fall.

Finally getting control of herself, C.C. decided to stick to a more easy going approach. She needed Meg's help if she was ever going to pull this thing off with Erik and Christine and it simply wouldn't do for Meg to die of a heart attack before the operation even really got started. And if anyone looked to be on he verge of a seizure, it was Meg.

Look, darlin'." she continued, putting far more drawl into her voice then usual. There was just something about a southern accent that people found disarming, go figure. "The Phantom wouldn't notice me that way if I danced in circles around him, naked." she drew off her earlier musings, then off Meg's abashed look, "Not that I ever tried it, or anything! Point bein', his heart's somewhere else." C.C.'s voice grew soft at the end, wistful almost. Meg's expression softened, a small knowing smile ghosting her face. There was just something about young girls and timeless love.

"Who is she?" Meg asked, her eyes shining. "Is she a lost spirit, too?"

C.C. squeezed her eyes shut, gently chewing a nail. If only the little ballerina knew. But, there would be time enough for that later. "She's an angel." she answered quietly. "For now she thinks him one as well. I pray it doesn't end in tragedy when she learns otherwise." Meg let out a soft gasp, apparently finding no words to fit the situation.

Deciding that she had let the mood get entirely too fluffy, C.C. smirked pointedly to herself as she prepared to remedy the situation. "Now run along, little Giry." she commanded. "But, I want you here at the same tomorrow and I want you to tell no one of our meetings. Am I understood?" Below her Meg gulped and nodded fervently. "Good." C.C. said, her smirk widening. "Because I would absolutely loathe to have to torment you with one of the diabolical schemes I've been dying to try out on Carlotta."

Meg shot a quick grin in the direction of the rafters and then hurried out the room.

Swing down from her perch, C.C. gave herself an mental pat on the back. That was two major characters she had corrupted. Now all she had to do was teach a socially inept recluse with a mental issue or two to pull off acting like a normal human. Not to mention preventing the sickening fluffiness that was Raoul and Christine from happening. Piece of cake, right? Okay, wrong. But, she _was _the Authoress, after all. She's find a way to pull it off somehow. She had to.

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"Where have you been?" Erik snapped angrily as she finally reentered the lair.

"Oh, you know, here and there." she casually said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She knew full and well that Erik was not about to let the subject drop, but it had to be worth a try.

"No, I don't know." he growled. "Enlighten me."

C.C. cocked her head slightly to the side as though seriously considering his words and then smiled brightly. "No." she chirped simply before scurrying off to the kitchen, leaving Erik to seethe.

From her refuge, C.C. could hear the familiar sound of the Phantom taking out his frustration on his poor, defenceless pipe organ. Rolling her eyes, the Authoress turned to face Ayesha, who sat contemplatively in the corner. "What do you think, Cat?" she asked the glaring siamese. "Do I go back out there and deal with this or do I uphold an English stereotype be drinking countless cups of tea while I wait for him to calm down?"

Ayesha blinked slowly before getting up and meandering off to Erik's bedroom. "Lot of help you are!" C.C. shot at the retreating animal before turning to return to the front section of the lair.

Erik sat with his back towards her, pounding furiously on the keys of the organ. He knew she was there and she knew that he knew. Finally she spoke.

"I'm still not telling."

"This is my opera house!" he snapped, turning towards her. "If you think. . ."

"Yeah, yeah." she cut him off tiredly. "Why don't you sing me a new one. That tune's gotten a bit old. Hey!" she brighten, changing the subject, "Just now, I was within a metre of that hell beast you call a cat and she didn't eat me or anything!"

"Is that so?"

"Yep!"

She made a big show of twirling for his benefit, showing him that she was unharmed. Erik smirked and her, his eyebrow raised in an amused fashion. He always found it impossible to stay angry at this girl for long.

Walking the rest of the way over to him, C.C. draped herself elegantly across Erik's lap, much to his surprise, no doubt. "So," she chirped, "I should go make dinner, but wouldn't you rather me stay here while you write me pretty music?"

Erik's turquoise eyes took on a mischievous glint. Mimicking the Authoress' earlier movements he cocked his head contemplatively before uttering a simple "No." and shoving the girl playfully onto the floor with a wolfish grin.

Letting out indignant squeak, C.C. jumped to her feet. "How rude!" she huffed, trying to sound offended, but unable to keep a matching grin from her face. "I think this calls for some serious retaliation." With that she reached out and soundly ruffled his hair, leaving it hanging stringily across his face.

Erik let out another low growl. C.C. squealed and tried to dart out of reach, but a strong arm caught her around the waist, cutting off her escape. With one fluid motion Erik stood up an swung the Authoress over his shoulder. Squealing for the second time in as many seconds, she landed a series of open handed blows on his back and shoulders. "Put me down? Erik, what are you doing?" she demanded.

"No. And as so nicely put it 'serious retaliation'. I think the lake will do nicely." C.C. could practically hear his smirk. She quickly changed tactics to avoid bing dumped into the frigid water.

"No, no, NO! Not the lake!" she protested, "I'll be good! I swear! O mightiest of ghosts, I pledge my word! O King of Operatic Spectres! O Great Lord Phantom!"

Erik stopped suddenly, swinging her around so that he was cradling her, one hand beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders/ Instinctively her arms went around his neck to keep from falling. "I think I rather like being called 'Lord Phantom'." he purred silkenly.

"Yeah, well don't get used to it." she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" he asked with mock severity, hefting her and taking another step towards the lake.

"Nothing, Lord Phantom!" she corrected quickly, feigning wide-eyed innocense.

"That's what I thought." His smirk seemed to be verging on an actual smile as he set her down.

"Alright, the kitchen awaits!" she smiled warmly at him. "See you in half an hour, Erik."

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**A/N: In the chapter after next, (give or take a chapter,) Christine will finally be making an appearance. I know I've been promising this would be an E/C phic, but it just now struck me that I can only make that happen if I remember to introduce the little soprano. Whoops. But, just hang in there for a chapter of two and you'll get the first few hints of the wacky and fun festival of fluff that I always intended this story to be.**

**Please Review. As I've said before, reviews inflate my Erik's ego, which makes him feel like a very inspirational muse, which means you get faster updates; I can only assume that if you've made it past the first twelve chapters that you're hoping for an update. As always, I hope y'all enjoy.**

**Your humble and obedient servant,**

**SP**

**PhantomMiddleEarthLover:** Glad to help a fellow humour junky in need!

_Muse!Erik:_ She called me stunning and you pesky. I think I like this girl.

**Cassiopeia Lily:** Pft! Homework! Why be productive when you can read phiction? Oh, and good luck on the _something _you had to do with your Erik.

_Muse!Erik: _-fingers Punjab lasso fondly- Yes, I'm sure there are a lot of _somethings _we Eriks would like to do as well.

_C.C.: _-wrestles away lasso- Give me that! That's the third time I've had to confiscate one of these this week! Where do you keep getting them?

**MTL:** I was going to let you pet somewhere else, but my muse threatened to tie me down and force me to watch the infamous Steve Harley music video on repeat if I did. -shudders-

_Muse!Erik:_ They don't call me a master of torture for nothing, my dear.

**affirmedhope: **Yay! Phantom shaped brownies! And, you're right. All Eriks need a few hundred rubber duckies. Look, Erik, she even sent you brownies, too!

_Muse!Erik: _But they're in the shape of those fiendish yellow ducks!

_C.C.:_ But they're still brownies. -waves one in front of his face- Look, chocolate. You _know _how much you love chocolate.

_Muse!Erik:_ -looks torn-

**Blonde Charger**: Glad you liked your line. I wanted to put you in more, but your secret project is going to have some importance later on so I had to keep it, well, secret. (Pause) Hey, Erik, she mentions something about parting you from your pants again. What do you think? Can that satellite handle another malfunction?

_Muse!Erik: _No!. . .I mean, I don't think so. A pity. If you need me I'll be as far away as possible.

_C.C.:_ Oh look, he ran away. Fancy that.


	13. A Little Kay

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. If I did, trust me, I wouldn't be here writing about it, he and I'd be far too busy. . .er, playing checkers. Right! That's it, playing checkers. -shifty eyes- _

**Chapter 13: A Little Kay Never Hurt Anyone, Right?**

"Erik!" C.C. Screeched.

It was the middle of the night as the Authoress streamed through the lair and into Erik's bedroom. "Erik! Rat! KillitKillitKillit! Rat!" she shrieked

Launching herself into his coffin, she started shaking him violently. In the back of her mind she registered the fact that his hair seemed a light auburn and the white mask lying on the bedside table, but her mind was far too preoccupied with the brown, skinny, soulless creature crawling on her bed. Heck, she was to hysteric to even notice the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Erik, however, seemed to mind the missing mask significantly more.

"Damn you!" He swore violently. "Is this what you wanted? You wanted to see. . ."

C.C. could practically hear the angsty orchestra music start up in the background, but she didn't have time for it at the moment. "Don't Care! Rat! Bed! Kill it! NOW!"

She grabbed his hand and practically dragged him down the hall. She stopped just long enough to work the lights Allison had installed before dragging the protesting Erik over to her bed and into the light.

C.C. gave another little shriek and Erik instinctively backed away, his hand flying to his face, but the girl's gaze had fallen on something she found _far _more terrifying. Evil in the form of yellowed teeth, cold black eyes, and a skinny pink tail sitting nonchalantly on her bed. The rat stared up at her, not seeming to care in the least that the room was suddenly lit and people occupied what it appeared to deem _its _domain. Letting out one more shriek for good measure, she darted behind Erik, both hiding herself and pushing him towards the vile little creature. "Go! Be Phantomy and drop something heavy on it or something!" she ordered.

Having firmly sent the hunter after its quarry, C.C. dashed off to the relative safety of the organ bench. Huddling against the instrument, she listened intently for some sign that would indicate a score of Erik:1. Rat:0.

A few minutes later a hand fell on her shoulder. C.C. jumped and shrieked again, only registering that something very much rat sized had landed on her. Behind her she heard Erik growl furiously. The Authoress realized her mistake even as Erik's grip tightened and he spun her around on the bench, her back pressing painfully against the organ.

"Look at me." he sneered. "You wanted to see, so look. Or will you run screaming for my death as you did the rat?" He pressed closer to her. "Am I no less repulsive then the rat, Authoress?"

**I wonder if he's been reading Kay?** Her mental voice inserted idly.

Ignoring the voice, C.C. tried to formulate something at least resembling a plan. Erik grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her again. "Answer me!" he shouted.

She knew there was very little she could do while they were still in their current positions. Then she remembered a move she had learned while playing a vamp on stage the year before. She met Erik's eyes and held them. Bringing her arms down between his, she slowly ran her hands up his bare chest. Erik's intake of breath was sharp and audible and his grip on her arms loosened significantly, that was what she had been waiting for. When her hands reached his shoulders she moved suddenly.

Wrapping a leg around his and grasping hard on his shoulders, she pulled his leg out from under him and turned her body in one fluid motion. The end result was that Erik sat with his back pressed against the organ while C.C. stood above him with her hands of his shoulders. Their positions had effectively been switched. The Authoress smirked pointedly for a moment before moving a few feet off, crossing her arms over her chest.

"First off," she snapped at him, " I said I. Don't. Care! Seriously, a little aloe vera and a good base. . .never mind! Secondly, since you neither have a skinny pick tail or, last I checked, carried _plague_, I'd say you're significantly less repulsive then a rat! Third, if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead all ready. Or have you forgotten who's been cooking your meals the past few day? Any more questions?" She glared intently at hin, daring him to continue his earlier line of questioning.. Erik for his part, just stared and blinked dumbly at her.

"Good." she snapped. Less then a second later her demeanour slipped into that of the sleepy university student that she was. Moving towards the swan bed, she vaguely noticed Ayesha dragging off the body of a rat with a clearly broken neck. "Tomorrow we're getting a cat!" C.C. called around the natural stone wall.

"I already have a cat." he called back perplexedly.

C.C. rolled her eyes. "A cat that: A) attacks the rat before it's dead, and B) isn't secretly plotting my untimely demise."

"Ayesha isn't plotting anything." he defended.

"Yeah, right. And I'm the Empress of France in disguise." She paused for a moment. "Tomorrow we're getting a cat, I have spoken, thus it shall be! Now, goodnight, Erik."

C.C. curled up under the duvet and closed her eyes before he could respond. She hadn't thought that she could have fallen back asleep after the events that had transpired that night, but apparently an adrenaline rush, running around shrieking like a broken windshield wiper, and a near throttling from and irate Phantom were quite tiring. She was asleep mere moments after her head touched the pillow.

Having left his seat at the organ, Erik watched the sleeping girl, his head cocked perplexedly like an inquisitive puppy. Yet while his expression may have been comical, his thoughts were anything but. Who _was _this girl? He had seen her do the improbable. Heard her claim the impossible. Who was she? She had seen his face. Why hadn't she run? Here she was curled up, sleeping soundly even when she knew all she knew. Why had she stayed? And more importantly, where was he going to get a cat in the next twenty-four hours?

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**A/N: A short chapter I know, but I felt the first of the two unmasking scenes I'll have to write had to be done at this stage for the sake of furthering the there-is-no-plot line. In other news, I think I've finally managed to settle into a regular update schedule, (once every 5-7 days,) but a large number of reviews might persuade me to update faster. (wink-wink, nudge-nudge.) As always, I hope y'all enjoyed. **

**You humble and obedient servant,**

**SP**

**PhantomMiddleEarthLover**: You _armed _my Erik? This can't end well. Well, actually it _could _end in lots of semi kinky fun, but I'm betting it won't.

_Muse!Erik:_ You'd be betting right.

_C.C.:_ Meep!

**Affirmed Hope:** Oops! Erik, we made her melt. I forgot what happens if we have your alter ego smirk and be otherwise sexy. Anyway, she sent you more brownies.

_Muse!Erik:_ -munches happily- Mmm. . .these are good. I mean, I loathe when phangirls melt, they get all sticky and impossible to remove from one's person.

**Cassiopeia Lily:** I think this review is for you, Erik!

_Muse!Erik:_ First, congratulations to your Erik for being smart enough to run away while he had the chance. You may continue to kowtow before me, I find it rather amusing. And I believe I could abuse my power as muse on your behalf. Many thanks for the brownies, one can never indulge enough in one's guilty pleasures. Don't you agree? -winks-

_C.C.:_ -facepalm-


	14. What's In A Name?

_Disclaimer: Gaston gave Erik life. Susan gave him a history. Andrew gave him the Music of the Night. Now I'm merely stealing him and pumping the story full of as much E/C goodness humanly possible._

**Chapter 14: What's In A Name?**

"Oh my Hugh! She's so cute!"

Erik jumped, his hands smashing discordantly on the keys of the organ as he was startled by the shrill squealing emanating from the swan bed. Apparently his house guest had found her gift. Moments later C.C. came streaming out of the alcove clutching a mewling ball of apricot and cream fuzz to her chest.

"Isn't she cute?" she demanded, thrusting the flame point siamese at the masked man. "She is so cute! Yes, she is! She's the cutest thing ever! Nothing was ever cuter!"

"Will you please find another adjective?" Erik tried his best to glare, but the ghost of a smile persisted. If he had known that young women reacted this well to small animals he would have tried the manouevre long before then.

"Aw! Is someone jealous of the fluffy widdle kitten?" C.C. teased. "Don't worry! You're cute too!" Erik looked like he was about to growl, which was probably a fair assessment.

"Where'd you get her?" C.C. asked, once again cuddling the kitten against her chest.

"One of the cats that live in the ally near the kitchens had a littler nearly weaned. That one," he indicated at the content looking animal in her arms, "reminded me quite a bit of you."

"How so?" The Authoress asked warily.

Erik held out his hand to reveal a semicircle of needle like punctures. C.C. looked repeatedly between the bite mark and the kitten she was cradling before breaking into a big grin.

"You did that?" she crooned at the baby, causing Erik to scowl deeply. "Yes! You bit that ol' Phantom, didn't you. . .didn't you. . ." she paused, looking to Erik.

"Your cat, you choose." he said simply, understanding her hesitation. The Authoress grinned before returning to her crooning.

"You bit that big ol' Phantom, didn't you, Arabella?"

"Arabella?" he questioned. He reached out to scratch the little animal's head, but quickly pulled his hand back as she swatted at him.

"Arabella." C.C. confirmed. "It's my favourite name. I was saving it for my daughter, but she's just so cute that I couldn't resist."

Erik smiled a bit lopsidedly. "I should have guessed that you would enjoy operas with happier endings."

"On occasion," she answered casually, "but I'm just as likely to go for doom, gloom, and deals with the devil. To be honest, I like the name more than the opera."

He frowned slightly, as though realizing something for the first time. "Speaking of names, you have yet to give me yours."

"Haven't I?" Had she really forgotten?

"**No**." both the Phantom and her mental voice answered together.

"Pft! Minor detail. Utterly unimportant." she said in a rush, the ceiling to her right becoming suddenly very interesting. Erik stared at her with an expression that seemed a mix of annoyance and amusement.

The Authoress blushed a deep crimson. "It's C.C." she conceded.

Erik arched an eyebrow in her direction. "Is that even a name?"

"Well, you could call me _Crystal-Christine _if you prefer, but I've sworn to kill anyone other than immediate family who calls me by my full name, so I wouldn't suggest it."

Erik just continued to stare. C.C. found herself blushing deeper and ranting furiously. "My parents were really indecisive. My dad wanted to name me Crystal because it meant "window to God," and my mum wanted to name me after Christine in _The Pha_. . .never mind. Anyway, my dad also named my half sister Crystal, so I go by either C.C. or Christine, but somehow I doubt that you want more than one Christine running around in your life. Some of my friends and family call me Chris, but mostly it's just C.C.. Which is good because, to tell the truth, "Chris" rather annoys me." She took a deep breath, but continued to blush.

"I just lost most of whatever dignity I might have had, didn't I?" she asked self-consciously at her feet. Erik smirked.

"Just a little."

C.C. sighed and went back to playing with her kitten, attempting to act as if she hadn't just made a complete fool of herself. For once Erik decided not to push the situation even though he clearly had the advantage.

"I'm going out again today." she said finally. Erik's demeanour cooled immediately.

"I should think not."

"Do you honestly think you can stop me? Lesson Two: despite what you think, you don't have control over absolutely everything."

Erik just glared in response. In truth, there wasn't much he could do to keep her from doing anything she set out to do, and it frustrated him to no end. For someone who was used to complete and total control of his environment, it was quite a nasty shock to find himself in a situation where he had no control whatsoever.

"Damn you to hell." he snarled menacingly under his breath.

C.C. seemed rather unfazed. She was a phan, after all, and if there was one thing a phan could handle, it was a moody Phantom. "No thank you. Although, I have heard the weather in Hell's rather nice this time of year."

Erik let out a soft growl and ran a hand over the unmasked side of his face in an exasperated manner. He fought to swallow his growing anger and frustration rather then engage in yet another argument he had no way of winning. Without another word he got to his feet and walked behind the velvet curtain in the back, heading toward his room.

C.C. Simply shook her head and watched him go. "What are we going to do about him?" she asked Arabella who merely yawned in response.

She headed back to what she had deemed her room and began shifting through her closet. She brushed past her collection of period clothing. They were far too cumbersome. She paused a moment on her Haunting Uniform, but decided she wanted something a little more simple for the day's activities. She stared hard at her clothing for a several moments longer before a spectacular idea struck her.

Setting Arabella down, she grabbed a pair of black slacks, a white lacy camisole, a black silk sash, black leather boots, gloves, and her gold mask. She put most of the articles on and then walked towards Erik's room. She looked at the entrance apprehensively for a moment, but then took a deep breath and walked in purposely.

"What are you doing?" he barked at her as she entered.

"Borrowing your clothing."

Erik balked slightly, just noticing that she was hardly more then half dressed, only wearing trousers, boots, and some silky looking thing that mockingly masqueraded as a shirt. He open his mouth to make some sort of retort, but finding no words, quickly closed it again. She kept him guessing, he'd grant her that much.

C.C. walked unabashedly to his wardrobe and pulled out a white poet shirt. It was quite large on her, she noticed as she put it on and tucked it into her slacks, but that only helped to show quick flashes of the lovely camisole that she wore underneath. She tied the sash in her hand around her waist and turned back to the closet. After sorting through several oversized dress cloaks she found a short riding cape with lovely embroidery across the back and tied it around her neck.

Next she wrapped her hair into a loose bun and tied her little carnivalé mask in place. Pulling on her gloves, her eyes scanned the room for her outfit's one missing piece. The Authoress let out a squeal of triumph as she spotted a neglected looking black hat in the corner. Seizing the fedora, she deftly placed it on her head, but being several sizes too big, and it slipped down to cover one eye almost completely.

'_Oh, well.' _she thought as she spent a moment fighting a losing battle with the brim of the hat. _'I'll just say it added to the effect.'_

Smiling brightly she turned to face Erik giving her best impression of the legendary Cape Swish. The effect was lost on Erik as he merely stared suspiciously at her through narrowed eyes. "What exactly are you doing? Do you think to mock me?"

"Haven't you ever heard that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?" she joked. "Anyway, I'm not mocking you. I'm becoming you."

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. "What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"I refer back to Lesson One. Christine can't love a ghost. So we're gonna trade lives in about ten minutes."

Erik seemed to be struggling to make sense on the concept. "How are to exchange lives, exactly?"

"It's easy." she explained. "No one but Madame Giry has ever gotten a good look at you. All that you've ever let them see is a quick flash of a cloak here and there and the occasional fluttering letter. With a little coercion I could easily have all important parties believing the Opera Ghost is a woman in gentlemen's clothing. So from now on I'm gonna be the Phantom and you will be the very much_ human_ man who lives within my domain. You get the humanity required to woo your little protege and I get to, well, be the Phantom. You get your dream, and I get mine. It's a win-win situation."

Erik closed his eyes and stood still for a moment while he processed her words. He in no way wanted to give up the title and power he had worked nearly all his life to possess, but, infuriatingly enough, the girl was speaking sense. The thought of becoming a man in Christine's eyes brought a rush of both exhilaration and terror. Did he truly have a chance as nothing but a man?

C.C. took in his silence. She hadn't actually expected a response. At least not a positive one. She knew that it would take time for him to fight a silent battle with an inner demon or two, but time was of the essence and she still hade a thing to do before her meeting with Meg, one of the most important things she would do while she was in this story. She gave him a lopsided smile. "Besides, I'd make a much better ghost than you. You can't walk through walls." With that she turned on he heels and made her way to one of the lair's exits.

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'_If I was a naive chorus girl, where would I be?' _C.C. though to herself as made her way up from the bowels of the opera house.

Rehearsal? No, it was too late for morning rehearsal and too earlier for afternoon rehearsal.

The dressing room? No, she hadn't made her debut yet and they certainly wouldn't give a private dressing room to a chorus member.

'_Let's pray it's the chapel, then. Anywhere else and I won't be able to get her alone.'_

Her prayers were answered as she invisibly walked the staircase to the dusty chapel and found the young brunette sitting before the small alter, still in her practice tights. All of a sudden countless Phantom cliches ran through C.C.'s mind. As she stared at Christine a moment longer she finally gave into the draw.

"Christine, Christine. . ." she sang softly.

Her mental voice gave a disgusted snort. **Was that really necessary?**

'_Yes.'_

Christine, for her part, started and jumped to her feet. "Who's there?"

Oops! C.C. hadn't actually thought about what she was going to say to Christine once she found her. _'Stupid lack of foresight!' _she cursed silently.

"Just a wraith." she improvised.

"Wraith?" the other girl echoed.

"Yes, a wraith. A Spectre, a shade, an apparition," she paused for dramatic effect, "an opera ghost. _The _Opera Ghost if you want to get specific."

"Please don't jest. The Phantom is just a story. Please, who are you?"

The Authoress snorted indignantly. "You believe whole heartedly in some Angel of Music, but you don't believe in the Phantom?"

All the colour drained from Christine's face. "How do you know about that? Who are you?"

"I just told you who I was and you informed me I don't exist." C.C. mock huffed. "You know, that kind of hurt my feelings. I'm not sure I'm in the sharing mood anymore."

"Then would you please give me leave to pray for my father."

C.C. was taken aback. She never remembered Christine having any backbone. She did a quick inventory of her memory: Christine cowering in her dressing room, Christine cowering in the lair, Christine cowering on the rooftop, cowering at the masquerade, in the chapel. Nope, nowhere had she remembered seeing the fiery girl in front of her. She was quite intrigued, to say the least.

"I don't think I'm ready to leave just yet. You and I have some things to discuss."

"What sort of things?" Christine asked warily.

"Oh, a bit of everything: life, death, the afterlife, angels demons, men. That and I absolutely have to know how you keep your curls so neat looking. I can't get mine to look that nice even with the insane amounts of money I spend on hair products."

"So you're not really a ghost then?"

"What?"

"If you were a spirit you would no longer need to have such vanity."

C.C. stopped dead. Christine was making far more sense than she thought she would. The Authoress needed to change her approach. Well, not that she had much of an approach to begin with.

"Okay," she levelled with her, "I'm not a ghost, per say. I am, however, not exactly your average personage."

"How so?"

"I'll show you," she answered, "but if you so much as think about fainting this will not end well for you."_ 'Or me.' _she thought. The last thing she needed was to have to tell Erik that the love of his life was passed out on the chapel floor and that it was her fault.

"I believe I can manage that." Christine still didn't seem to believe her.

'_How on earth did Erik mange this?' _C.C. thought

**Easy, **her mental voice answered **he approached her in a time of great need. And he has a very attractive tenor**.

Taking a deep breath, C.C. leaned a shoulder against the door frame, trying to look smugly nonchalant. Pasting a smirk on her face, she allowed her self become visible. Christine paled and crossed herself, reflexively taking a step backwards. She had a look dumb shock on her face that C.C. had seen countless times while watching the final verse of Music of the Night on her DVD.

"I told you not to faint!" she snapped at the younger girl.

That seemed to whip Christine out of her stupor. "You truly are the Phantom." she whispered.

"That I am." Then grinning, she spread her arms, and took a deep bow._'As of now.'_ She added silently.

"But you're a woman." Christine suddenly protested. "The Opera Ghost is supposed to be a gentleman."

C.C. sighed. "Do you honestly think the managers would do as they're told if they thought the orders came from a girl? Christine seemed to ponder this for a moment.

"No, I guess not."

"Then you see my dilemma." Walking over to Christine she placed a gloved hand on her arm and lead her to the window seat. She was quite surprised when Christine didn't flinch as she touched her. Namesake or not, C.C. had never been a big fan of Christine herself, but she was beginning to think that she'd come to like the girl. Setting herself and Christine down on the ledge she continued. "We have a lot to talk about. I'm interested to hear your opinion of a certain mutual friend of ours." Christine look confused.

"You must be mistaken. I'm quite sure I don't know anyone who would interest the Opera Ghost."

C.C. scoffed lightly. "Of course you do. He's tall, smart sounding, has an amazing tenor, and has been known to occasionally go by the name Angel of Music." The Soprano's eyes widened.

"You know my Angel?" she asked almost breathlessly.

"Oh, yes." The new Phantom replied. "In a way, I've known him nearly my entire life."

Christine was flushed with excitement. Never before had she been able to speak with anyone about her Angel. Not only had he forbidden her, but they would have thought her to be insane. Now here she was, sitting with someone with whom she could share her secret, and it was the Phantom of the Opera none the less. She certainly hadn't though her day would be so eventful!

"So," C.C. asked, trying to sound insouciant as she toyed with one of her loose curls falling from beneath her hat, "what exactly do you think of our favourite _heavenly being_?" Christine's eyes nearly glowed as she began to speak of her secret angel and tutor.

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They had talked for nearly two hours, the new Phantom and the chorus girl. The only thing that connected them was a man in a mask that only one of them had ever seen, but it had been enough for them to sit for hours and talk like old friends.

If C.C. had sensed things right, her job was going to be easier then she thought. Erik had left quite the impression over the years, but then Christine was female and human and C.C. knew first hand that Erik's presence seemed to have quite the impression on anyone who fit those specification.

After all, she mused, it wasn't as though there were hundreds of thousands websites, chat rooms, and forums stuffed full of obsessive phangirls or anything. And it wasn't as if she herself had stood countless times in an ally on West 45th street in New York City in either the freezing cold or scorching heat just to get the chance to squeal loudly as a once masked man came out of the building. Oh no, it wasn't like that at all.

The Authoress smiled to herself as she thought of Erik's future stardom. If only he new. Well, actually it was probably better that he didn't. Even with all of his hidden little inferiority complexes he still had an ego to rival the biggest of the world's stars. The last thing she needed was to add to it by showing him a world were he was _the _sex god. Though, at the same time it might do him _some _good.

C.C. laughed out loud as she made her way through the tunnels. Erik thought himself inhuman which simultaneously made him feel powerless _and _all powerful. He was the only person she had ever met to have and inferiority complex and superiority complex about the same subject. He really was one of a kind.

Still smiling to herself, she continued along the path to the abandoned costume room where she was to meet Meg. This whole thing would work. She still didn't have a plan. She still didn't know what she was going to do about, well _any_ of the story conflicts looming in the not to distant future. And she certainly didn't know exactly what one single girl, far from home, could do to rewrite a story nearly two hundred years in the making. Yet she had a feeling. A feeling that things would work out all right in the end. And it has always been said that a writer should trust their intuitions.

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**A/N: Wow! Sixteen reviews in less then twenty-four hours! Here it is, the long awaited arrival of Christine. Sorry if she's kind of out of character. I tried, honest. But, the story is now one step closer to the E/C goodness it was meant to be. Keep reading and reviewing, it keeps me and my muse happy which in returns means more chapter, which hopefully makes all of you happy! As always, I hope y'all enjoy!**

**Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,**

**SP**

**Affirmed Hope**: Phic deprivation? Oh Bek, you poor, unhappy thing! Thanks for the brownies.

_Muse!Erik:_ -leaps back- These are new pants! If you so much as think of melting on them you'd be inviting horrors beyond your comprehension.

_C.C.:_ Don't you mean 'a disaster beyond your imagination'?

_Muse!Erik_: I do have other threats in my vocabulary! Bloody Andrew Lloyd Webber!

**MTL**: -huggles Erik protectively- Considering that if I lost either my muse of my story's Phantom, the phic would be over, I don't think a trade would be a good idea.

_Muse!Erik:_ You're correct, MY-Erik. This rat information just might prove quite useful in the future.

_C.C.: _-panics- I, uh, I don't hate rats! Er, I love the fuzzy balls of flea infested bubonic plague, really!

_Muse!Erik_: -smirks-

**Cassiopeia Lilly**: -hands the keyboard over to Erik-

_Muse!Erik:_ You say your Erik refuses to return? A smart decision on his part. However, I just might find it in my self to offer a little _consolation_. -hands over a set of carefully written directions- I'm in the walk in closet of the basement level. Bring chocolate.

_C.C.:_ For Hugh's sake, Erik! Are you prostituting yourself for _chocolate_?

_Muse!Erik:_ Um. . .no?

**PhantomMiddleEarthLover:** Curse Erik for being so dark, sexy, and. . .and. . -forgets what she's saying and starts to drool-

_Muse!Erik:_ Say, what are your feelings on chocolate and walk in closets?

**Trier1974:** I'm very glad that you liked it. I've had a bunch of people tell me that it was a little over dramatic, but then, this _is_ The Phantom of the Opera we're talking about, right?

_Muse!Erik:_ I am not dramatic! -dramatic cape swish-

**Pawfoot:** Thanks! He is a helpful little muse, isn't he?

_Muse!Erik:_ -glares- I'm only here because if I refuse my Authoress cuts off my access to her Jaffa Cake stock.

**Rezz:** Seven reviews in one day! That really made my night! Thank you! -huggles-

_Muse!Erik:_ You do have a life, correct?

_C.C.:_ -hits Erik over the head- Ignore him, Rezz. He's just cranky and bitter because I refuse to let him have complete access to my DVD collection.

**Pulsebeat Crow:** There's such thing as a cat that doesn't plan my demise. -glances at the siamese sleeping on the desk- She does insist on sleeping on my Phantom shrine and walking across my keyboard and inopportune times, though. -hands Erik basket of muffins- You know, I'm lucky he's fictional, otherwise he might get quite chubby with all this sugar people keep giving him.

_Muse!Erik_: Hmm, muffins. Many thanks, my dear.

**Just Plain Insane:** Ranting is perfectly acceptable, you're talking to the queen of long and pointless rants. ;)

_Muse!Erik:_ -jumps back from glomp attempt- Restrain your reviewers, girl!

_C.C.:_ Hmm. . .

_Disclaimer: The Authoress is not responsible for any attempts made to glomp, glomph, thud, drool, pet, pat, purr, or squee on an Erik in the commission of this story. Likewise she not responsible for any mental or physical damage done by that Erik to the person attempting such action._

_Muse!Erik:_ -growls-


	15. The Evils That Men Do

_Disclaimer: _

_If I owned Erik the world would be a happy place,_

_The sky'd be tinted gold._

_But sadly he belongs to Gaston Leroux,_

_So my world is black and cold. _

**Chapter 15: The Evils That Men Do**

C.C. sat with Meg in the costume room. Or, more accurately, Meg sat on the floor while C.C. lounged invisibly on a rafter.

"What do you know of the ghost?" The Authoress asked suddenly. "I mean, really know? Not just the rumours you've heard about the opera house." Meg thought for a moment.

"There is a stage hand who says. . ."

C.C. sighed tiredly. "What is it with this opera house?" she snapped. "I have to repeat _everything _to everyone." Meg quaked below her.

"Oh! I'm. . .I. . ."

"I'm sorry, hon." C.C. quickly amended. "I didn't mean to snap. Let's just say it's been a rough day at the office."

"Oh, I understand." Clearly she didn't by the way she frowned and bit her lip, but she obviously didn't feel like telling "the ghost" so.

"So, what _do _you know about the ghost."

"Not much," the ballerina conceded, "but. . ."

"But what?" The Authoress prodded.

"It's nothing." she paused for a moment. "It's just that sometimes in the dormitory at night. . ."she trailed off for the second time.

This wasn't going anywhere. Well, actually it was going somewhere, it was just taking far too long to get there. And if there was one thing C.C. had never been accused of it was patients. Dramatics on the other hand. . .

"I watched your face from the shadows," she softly sang Meg's own part from what she bet would be a familiar tune. "distant through all the applause. I hear your voice in the darkness, but the words aren't yours."

Meg stared up, wide-eyed. "I thought I was dreaming, but that's it. That's the tune that Christine. . ." she broke off suddenly as she realized she had just stumbled across something very important. She wasn't quite sure what it was yet, but she was getting there.

'_And the ballet rat wins the prize.' _C.C. thought wryly as she noticed the look of partial recognition. "Ah, Christine Daae." she added aloud. "Lovely girl. Quite the _angel_, in fact."

Meg's frown deepened. She got the impression that she had just been handed another piece to some complex puzzle this lady ghost was part of. She just couldn't seen to see the picture.

C.C. grinned wickedly. She had never been big on mind games, but this was turning out to be really fun. Doling out little snippets and clues, waiting to see how long it was going to take Meg to connect the dots and discover at least a portion of the tragic love story secretly unfolding around her.

'_I give it two weeks before reality finally smacks her upside the head.' _he thought to herself.

**No, sooner then that. Four days. A week at the most. She's far smarter then you give her credit for. **The voice in her head retorted.

'_We'll see.'_ C.C. stood straightening her shirt and cloak as she balanced on the beam._ 'I might as well give her another clue or two as I leave. Give your bet a fighting chance.'_

"That will be all for today, Meg. As with yesterday, speak to no one. I'll come and fetch you the next time I feel you are needed." she told the girl below her, really getting into role as superordinate Phantom.

Slinking across the beam she slid the section of trick walling aside noiselessly. Before stepping through she allowed her self to turn visible and grant Meg the barest glimpse of a swirling cloak. She knew by Meg's startled gasp that she had timed it at least semi decently. As she slipped thought the opening it the wall she sang a final few bars of music just barely loud enough to reach the other girl clearly.

"Angel of Music do not shun me. Come to your strange Angel. . ."

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Once safely in the tunnels and out of earshot, C.C. broke into a fit of giggles. _'That was a power trip like whoa.' _

**You really shouldn't have played her like that.**

'_What are you, my conscience?'_

**Actually. . .**

'_Oh, right, you sort of are. But seriously, **now** is the time you decide to show up. Why are you only ever here **after** I do whatever heinous deed I did?'_

**Because guilt is a great motivator not to do something again. I exist in part to make you guilty for your misdeeds.**

'_Sorry, I don't want to feel guilty. Go away.'_

**If you insist.**

Her mental voice stuck to it's word and was silent, but the damage was done. The Authoress felt horribly guilty. She felt the sudden need to bake cookies or hide under a blanket and pout or any other of her I'm-Miserable-And-I-Hate-The-World activities. "Stupid conscience!" she swore aloud. "Why can't you just let me be evil?"

**Because then you wouldn't have the compassion needed for you to want to help Erik and you wouldn't be here in the first place.**

"Hey! I thought you said you were leaving!"

**Oh, right. Sorry.**

"No, it's okay. You're right, anyway. Not that that's really surprising. You're usually right." she stopped suddenly as a realization struck her. "You know, I should probably stop talking aloud to myself before someone sees me and I lose my pretence of sanity."

**That might be the first sensible thing you've said all afternoon.**

'_Do you have to rub it in?'_

**It _is_ my job.**

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C.C. reentered the lair having fully depressed herself, but then, self depression was something she'd always been good at. Her mother said it was the Sicilian in her, but she always figured that it was because she was cursed with a mind creative enough to vocalize fights with her own conscious.

She found Erik reading in the library and plopped herself down at the foot of chair with a spectacular sigh. She took off her hat and mask and fluffed her curls, all while staring depressingly at the pattern of the Persian carpet on the floor. Due to the fact that Erik had a keen grasp of the obvious, he immediately knew something was wrong.

"What's wrong?" he asked, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder. He wasn't used to initiating contact, nor was he used to comforting anyone, but there was a first time for everything, right?

She leaned her head back against his leg and looked up at him with soulful green eyes. "I'm sorry, Erik." she said simply. The answer confused him slightly.

"What do you have to be sorry for, exactly?"

She sighed again. "Me. Everyone. The world. We really, _really _suck. And I'm sorry for it. We're nothing but cruel and evil and we suck."

Erik stared at her oddly for a few moments before speaking. "I'm not quite sure what that means, but I assure you, you don't 'suck'. I won't say the same of the rest of the world, but I will of you."

C.C. smiled weakly up at him. "Yeah, I do, but thanks for saying that."

Not liking the current mood that had settled in the room and finding no other way of changing it, Erik decided to change the subject. "Now that you're back, you can rescue that satanic minion you seem to insist on calling a kitten."

C.C. shot up. "What did you do to my baby?" she demanded. Her demeanor changing drastically as she glared daggers at Erik.

"Nothing. She is simply barricaded in the pantry. She and I had a few. . . disagreements."

"Erik!" she snapped. "What's the worse she could have done? She's a kitten for Hugh's sake!"

The Phantom scoffed. "This coming from a girl who was reduced to a mewling heap after an encounter with a poodle."

C.C. flushed bright red. "That was different!" she insisted.

**Actually, it wasn't really.** Her mental voice threw in.

'_Oh, you stay out of this.' _she barked at the voice in her head before rushing off to save her kitten from the devices of the Phantom.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX **A/N: Le gasp! A filler chapter! Head for the proverbial hills! **

**Sorry folks, nothing really interesting happened this chapter, but it had to happen to set things up for future chapters. There will be much more Christine coming, and soon I might actually manage to get our favourite couple on the same side of a page break. (Insert Squees here.) As always, I hope y'all enjoyed.**

**Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,**

**SP**

**Cassiopeia Lilly:** -laughs- I really have nothing to do with these exchanges, do I?

_Muse!Erik:_ No, you don't. Stop being jealous that _I_ get more reviews than _you_. Now where was I? Oh yes, _my _loyal reviewer. It truly is a shame about your Erik. Although I dare say he's hardly deserving of the title of Opera Ghostif he was so blind as to abandon such delectable baking skills.

**PhantomMiddleEarthLover: **Well, one does have to have a firm hand with Christines. They're rather like a Cocker Spaniel in that way. Great to have around, but turn your back for a minute and they've gone and done something almost inhumanly stupid. Like dump a sexy Phantom and marry a fop.

_Muse!Erik: _-smirks seductively- I'm glad to see that our. . .interests run so similarly, love. Although in the future, the term you want is "Brav**o** Erik.". Brava is feminine, something I -winks- certainly am not.

_C.C.:_ -gags- Erik, when exactly did you turn into a flirt?

Muse!Erik: When you decided you wanted a sexy and charming Phantom for a muse.

_C.C.:_ -eye roll- Right, how could I forget.

**Pawfoot: **Of course! Isn't she the cutest?

_Muse!Erik:_ -snorts- What is it with girls and kittens?

**Affirmed Hope:** -does a happy dance of her own- Thanks for sticking by me when I was struggling with her. And squee for E/C goodness! You hear that Erik, she cut you off from your brownies! Says you have to learn to play nice before you get any more. I'm guessing that means you can't give her death threats. (Go Bek!)

_Muse!Erik:_ -Growls-

**Just Plain Insane: **Glad you liked your disclaimer. Oh, and you kill that fop! You kill him like whoa!

_Muse!Erik:_ -fondly stokes Punjab lasso- For once I agree wholeheartedly with you.

**MTL:** At least your name's short-ish. Mine was the bane of my teachers' existence. "Crystal-Christine Some French second name they couldn't pronounce." -eye roll- I'm glad you find my little masquerade clever, I figured I already spend so much time running around the house in a mask, fedora, and cloak that I might as well make it official. On a phictional level, anyway. Plus, it was helpful when dealing with Christine.

_Muse!Erik:_ Oh, my Christine. She is music.

_C.C.:_ Stop moping! -hits Erik across the head- And since when did you start quoting Y/K?

**Darth Gilthoron:** FAB! Squee! This makes you the first boy to have tried to navigate the insanity that is me attempting to be funny Even my brother and significant other ran away in fright. And what's this I hear, you would be irritated to have been referred to as the cute gay boy who coined such phrases and DDS and Mr. Sexy McSexmuffin, why ever for? -giggles-

_Muse!Erik:_ They ran with good reason, considering the terms of my existence I am in the position to know these things. And say hello to your Erik and your sister for me, she's quite lovely if memory serves.


	16. The Effects of Underestimation

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. I only borrow. I like borrowing. It's like chocolate for my inner kleptomaniac.**_

Chapter 16: The Effects of Underestimation

For the second time that week Erik was awoken by about 8.7 stones worth of flying authoress landing squarely on his chest. Delighted in the fact that she had succeeded in her task of not only waking the Phantom, but scaring the living daylights out of him, C.C. beamed down at him. "Good morning." she purred.

"No, it's not. Not anymore, anyway." Erik growled as he shoved her out of his coffin.

C.C. was unfazed, having gone through this routine several times with her older brother, and jumped back in the odd bed. She grinned at Erik who only groaned tiredly in response. "Get up!" she ordered playfully.

"Why should I?"

The Authoress sighed in frustration. "Because there are only two reactions to being pounced upon by an attractive female. And because I refuse to raise the rating to M, the first option's out. That only leaves reaction number two, which is you getting out of bed. Death threats are optional, although my brother and cousins insist that they add a rather nice touch."

"Cane infernale!" Erik swore under his breath, shoving the girl off the bed for the second time. C.C. cocked her head and looked at him perplexedly.

"Did you just call me a Hell hound?"

It was Erik's turn to look confounded. "You speak Italian?"

The Authoress smiled wickedly. "Forse o forse no. You underestimate me again, Signore Fantasma. If you keep it up you just may hurt my feelings."

"And that would be such a pity why, exactly?" He growled.

C.C. glared. Suddenly there was a large crashing sound from the front of the lair. Her glare turned into another of her wicked grins at the sound. Erik's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What was that?"

The girl forced her smile into something resembling sweetness and innocence. "Most likely something rare and expensive breaking." Actually, she had nothing to do with the crash and had no idea what had caused it, but the timing had just been too perfect and she couldn't help baiting Erik. He was just so cute when he glowered!

"Alright," she admitted, "I didn't do it. But you might want to go check out which of our fuzzy little darlings knocked something over. I'll drag up a bottle of crazy glue from my room in case we need it."

Erik looked like he was going to question what crazy glue was, exactly, but C.C. preempted the question.

"Don't question the glory that is crazy glue." she instructed. "Simply accept it and bask in the wonder of its existence."

"You really are mad," he answered for lack of a better response. The Authoress shrugged.

"So I've been told."

With an indignant snort, Erik swung his legs over the edge of his strange bed and headed out of the room. It was only after his departure, as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration, that he realized he was wearing neither his wig nor his mask.

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"Where exactly are you taking me?" Erik asked for what had to have been the twenty-second time in the past ten minutes. C.C. stopped and glared over her shoulder.

"I didn't tell you the first two dozen times. I'm not going to tell you this time." Grabbing the Phantom's hand she pulled him further along the tunnel they were traveling. "Oh, and by the way," she added brightly, "did you know that the definition of insanity is the repetition of the same act with the expectation of different results."

The Authoress smiled self-satisfactorily as she noted that not once during the rest of their journey did Erik ask where they were going.

However, that didn't mean the trip went smoothly. In retrospect, she would realize that having two stubborn and only partially sane individuals contained in very close quarters could only lead to disaster. Unfortunately, being partially insane had left her tragically with a complete and utter lack of foresight when it came to matters of deciding whether or not something was a good idea.

She did have one thing going for her, though. It was well known in literary circles that it's against the rules of all great stories to have the hero and the beautiful, talented, and amazingly witty, but still perfectly flawed heroine to kill each other until somewhere near the end of the story.

And the story wouldn't be over until the hero and the love of his life got some serious snogging done. After all, what was the point of a tragic and timeless romance if there wasn't snogging?

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"You've gotten lost, haven't you?" Erik asked triumphantly.

"I am NOT lost!" C.C. snapped back. Then after a moment's pause, "I just don't know where we are exactly." Another pause. "But that doesn't mean I'm lost." Erik just leaned against the stone wall with a derisive smile. C.C. gave him a fierce stare.

"Fine, then where are we?"

Erik's smile turned triumphant. "Simple. We're. . ." the smile lessened significantly, "we're. . ." it disappeared completely. "This is impossible I know every inch of this opera house." he finished dumbly.

The Authoress paled. "I was afraid this would happen at some point. I'm surprised it hadn't already." Erik's eyes narrowed.

"What are you talking about?"

"This. . ." she gestured to the tunnel around them, "is what all great authors fear above all else. It is what happens when they cease to plan what happens and a story develops a life of its own, it turns on its creator and dooms them, forcing them into a situation from which they have no means of escape. This," she paused for dramatic effect, "is a random plot twist."

Erik, who was unaccustomed to being a character in a less than sane young author's writing, looked significantly unimpressed. He failed to see how her nonsensical ranting had anything of importance to do with their situation. Little did he know, her ranting was the only thing that stood between them and being completely destroyed by the randomness of a renegade work of phanphiction.

Five minutes later she led him down yet another unknown tunnel and tried to explain the rules of their new world of traitorous fiction. "Rule number one was stay out of creepy barns, houses, and tunnels, but unfortunately that's not longer an issue. Rule number two: Don't split up. If we do, one or both of us will be eaten by something evil and squishy. Rule number three: Couples always die, so from now on you have stay at at least arms length from me. Rule number four: Beware the scarey background music. That one may be hard because we do have a full orchestra over our head, but we can hope they're performing a comedy at the moment."

"They're performing Othello." Erik cut in.

The Authoress swore violently, their luck just kept getting worse, but they were still safe as long as. . .

"Are you planning to continue your paranoid rant anytime soon?" Erik cut in for the second time. "Because the sooner you continue the sooner it will be over and I will have time to figure out where we are and how to get back to slightly more pleasant surroundings."

"Oh, good." C.C. sighed in relief. "You're skeptical. That's good. The skeptic never dies first and I can't have you dying on me just yet."

Just then Erik, who was slightly more sane than his companion, was struck by a bit of logic. "There's only two of us. Assuming we _are _going to die, doesn't that mean that you die first?"

That set the Authoress back slightly, but she quickly recovered. "No," she answered quickly, "no one is going to die as long as a phone doesn't. . ." This time she was cut off by the sounding of her Music of the Night ringtone. In the face of the heinous sound, C.C. did what any teenage girl with a knowledge of horror movies would do in her situation: she panicked.

"Flaming hell! I'm gonna die! When to people are trapped in a creepy tunnel and a mobile rings then that means one of them is gonna die and the skeptic never dies first!"

Again Erik looked less than impressed. "When you get done with your hysteria and whatever other nonsense you're going on about, I'll be backtracking my way toward the surface." He stopped for a moment as he was caught with a hint of belated curiosity. "What's a mobile?"

Returning to what senses she had, C.C. reached into the gaping plot hole that had appeared in her pocket and pulled out her cellular phone as it began to ring for the second time. "It's short for mobile phone. Everyone in my time's got one."

"But this isn't your time." Erik countered. "Why is it working now?"

C.C. thought for a moment and then swore for the third time in as many minutes. "I knew I shouldn't have let Lo Whi borrow my DVD box set of Doctor Who!"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ancient Japanese Jiggery-Pokery!" She shouted, as though that explained everything then went back to panicking.

"I can't answer it because if I do there'll be a creepy voice on the other side or just some heavy breathing but it will turn out that they're calling from just around the bend and they're gonna kill me. I can't not answer if because if I don't it will just keep ringing until it finally drives me insane!"

"Aren't you already insane?" The Phantom asked.

"Yes, but that's not the point!" she shot back.

"Yes, it is the point." he retorted. "If you're already insane then the ringing poses you no harm and that device is no threat."

As his words sunk in C.C. gave a sigh of relief. "You're right. In addition, I can always just do this." Shifting the phone slightly in her hand, C.C. hit the silence button and then grinned victoriously at the silent piece of plastic. "Ha ha," she told it before shoving it back into her pocket. "I win." Smiling brightly she added, "Now all we have to worry about are space aliens, blood thirsty ghosts, ghastly genetic experiments, mad scientists, killer dolls, ancient curses, booby traps, the odd mummy or two, and guys in hockey masks with chainsaws."

Erik snorted. "Oh, is that all?"

"That's about it, yeah."

"Well, then it's a good thing the sceptic never dies first."

C.C. stuck her tongue out at the Phantom before grabbing him by the shirt sleeve and dragging him back the way they had just come.

"Do you have any idea where you're going?" He asked her.

"No."

"Then why are we going this way?"

"Because my intuition says this is the way to go and this _is _still my story so I'm gonna trust it."

C.C. swore she could almost feel his smirk as she countered with, "Right, because that method has worked so incredibly well so for."

"Oh, shut it," she snapped back. Then under her breath, "I hate backseat tunnel navigators."

They traveled for several minutes in silence. Neither of them were willing to acknowledge that the tunnel seemed to have been growing more eerie and neither wanting to admit their mounting unease or sense of foreboding. In short, the word of the day was denial.

Sadly, as it always does, denial can only lead to pain, heartache, and running for your life.

"Did you just hear something?" C.C. asked suddenly.

"No." Erik answered a little too quickly.

"Good. I didn't either."

**You heard that creepy sound.** Her mental voice chided her.

'_No I didn't.' _

**Yes, you did. It sounded distinctly like something attempting to slink stealthily up behind you.**

"Shut up!" she hissed aloud, startling Erik.

"What?"

"Nothing. I wasn't talking to you."

Erik pondered asking her who she was talking to, but decided somethings were better left unknown.

A few minutes later the two companions heard the strange noise again, this time loud enough that neither could deny its existence.

"What was that?" the Authoress asked in classic horror movie style.

"Probably nothing." Erik answered, his voice distant as he glanced almost nervously behind them. "The building's full of rats and such. Plus we're near the sewers. It could have been anything."

"Yeah, anything." C.C. echoed uneasily.

Just then the worst possible thing that possibly could have happened, happened. Creepy music happened. It was strained and muffled by the sheer volume of stone between them and the source, but its presence was irrefutable. C.C. paled. This could not end well.

The sound was heard again, closer this time and louder. The hiss of movement against rock. A sinister sound that sent shivers up the spine anyone who heard it. C.C. and the Phantom turned in unison towards the sound as the origin rounded the corner of the tunnel to face them.

The Authoress knew there were times to be cool headed and collected and there were times to just stand there and scream like the girl she was. And although it was technically I time for the former, at the sight of the creature in front of her she decided to go with the latter strategy.

"Goblinoid! Goblinoid! I should have known better than to syphon a connection that good! Goblinoid!"

At the curve in the tunnel stood a truly ghastly looking creature with molted grey flesh, bulldog-like face, and wickedly sharp teeth. Hefting a club imbedded deeply with spikes it charged them, growling ferociously.

Without so much as blinking Erik pulled his Punjab lasso seemingly out of nowhere, cast it across the passage with the flick of the wrist, and snapped the creature's neck.

The Authoress stared at the slain beast with bewildered expression. "Well," she mused, "that was anticlimactic." Erik simply glared at her.

"Do you care to tell me exactly what that was and why it was in my opera house?"

C.C. grinned sheepishly. "You know that internet thing I was trying to show you earlier?"

Erik's eyes narrowed. "Yes. What does it have to do with that creature?"

"Well, you see. . ." C.C. stared at the ground for several seconds trying to decide how she would get out of this. Failing to find a way she said in a rush, "I couldn't get an internet connection by myself in this time so I sort of stole someone else's via a wormhole. The only problem was that I wanted a really, really good connection and all the best connections are the ones used by large groups of nerds with no lives who spend all day playing RPGs and despite what they say about women, Hell hath no fury like a nerd robbed of the internet. They must have tried to send some kind of D&D theme virus. Only my little renegade phic made it a little more literal than they intended."

"So you're saying that you're an inept thief who invoked the wrath of individuals who have goblins at their disposal?"

"That's about it, yeah."

"Why exactly did you think that was a good idea?"

"Because I'm deeply stupid and have no foresight." C.C. answered unblinkingly.

The stolidness of her reply set Erik back slightly, but he recovered quickly. Reaching he patted the Authoress gingerly on the shoulder. "At least you admit it. Now, let's find a way out of here."

Despite her initial impulse to glare darkly at the Phantom, C.C. found herself grinning instead, her subconscious figuring if she couldn't stay mad at the masked man it was better not to get mad at him in the first place. "Sounds like a plan. Lead the way, Monsieur."

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Apparently the slaying of the goblin had diffused the phic's desire for insurrection because the trip towards the surface went without incident. They soon reached a passage that Erik recognized. From there it was a cakewalk. Soon after C.C. found a passage that she too recognized and she was able to pick up her plans for the day where they had been left off. Taking Erik by the sleeve once more she led him down a series of tunnels that she had memorized in the days before.

It wasn't long before Erik realized where they were going and began to resist.

"Erik!" C.C. snapped as she tugged roughly on his hand. "Get over yourself and come on! You're just talking. It's not like I'm asking you to propose!"

"No, dammit!" he snapped back. "I've worked too hard at this. I won't let you do this."

"You will let me do this. It's my job. It's what I'm here for."

"Not yet!" Erik seemed to be beginning to panic. "It's too soon for this."

"Yes, yet. Like I said, we're just going to talk. Or, you'll talk, I mediate. You won't even be seen."

"I can't"

"You can."

"Not now."

"Right now."

"I can't go there."

"We're already here."

They had reached their destination. Standing in the tunnel both the Authoress and the Opera Ghost looked a little excited, a little tense, and more than a little scared. They had reached the threshold of their first big step.

"You stay here." C.C. instructed. "I'm going to go through and start up the conversation. You just stay here and. . .be you when the time comes, yeah?"

"What does that mean?" Erik asked, trying to keep the nervousness from his voice and failing miserably.

C.C. smiled. "You'll know when the time comes. Now let me earn my cupid wings, okay Big Guy?"

With that she turned and walked through the pane of glass in front of her, entering the dressing room of the pretty young brunette who sat at a vanity, brushing her curls.

"Hey, Christine!" she called. "Do you have time for a chat with your favourite ghost?"

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**A/N: Oh noes! I've turned into one of those flaky authors who disappears and doesn't update for months at a time! Oh, woe is me! Woe is me! . . .Sorry about that, folks. I've been pushing my angst limit on account of the fact that I'm nearing the age where I can no longer claim to be an angsty teenager. I present you with an eight page chapter in hopes earning your forgiveness. Anyway, the rating's been upped to T because it seems that Erik and I can't keep the swearing down. As always, I hope y'all enjoy.**

**Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,**

**S.P.**

_C.C.:_ -grins- Now for my favourite part.

_Muse!Erik:_ The part where I ridicule and mock your supposed friends?

_C.C.:_ Not when you put it that way.

**Bek: **Just want to say thanks for all the support and for taking my muse off my hands for spell a while back.

_Muse!Erik:_ Ah, yes. The trip that involved the younger brother who's skills of annoyance rival my most heinous torture techniques.

_C.C.:_ You're the one who wanted a vacation to another country.

**Cassiopeia Lily:** -hands the keyboard to Erik, again-

_Muse!Erik:_ Disowning your Erik seems a wise choice, my dear. I simply hope that you have not changed your mind over these past months while my authoress lazed the days away.

_C.C.:_ I was lazing! Remind me again which one of us was working and earning diploma and which one of us was happily snuggling with young girls on the world's largest sunny island.

**PMEL:**

**Pawfoot:** Apparently my Erik didn't take well to being threatened.

_Muse!Erik:_ Demands and extortions are not taken to kindly. After all, if everyone started doing it I'd be out of a job.

**Darth Gilthoron:** Feel free to use the review reply format, but don't bother crediting me because they weren't my idea. I stole the format from another author who had stolen it from someone else. Hugh only knows where the credit truly belongs.

_Muse!Erik:_ It's true. She has a complete lack of originality. Thus the point of my existence.

**Just Plain Insane:** You're a brave soul to try and befriend my muse. What do you say, Erik?

_Muse!Erik:_ I refuse to use the term "friend" when it comes to anyone who falls under the category of young, hormone driven phan, but I'll allow you to identify yourself as my associate.

_C.C.:_ -eye roll- How big of you, Erik. Associate: the word that makes every girl's heart go pitter pat.

**M.T.L.:** Your Erik thinks my work is genius? Excuse me while I squee! (SQUEEEEEEEE!) I just wish my muse would think the same.

_Muse!Erik:_ Why should I? I'm your muse, without me there is no writing. You just sit in front of your televison drooling over Hugh, Gerry, and Christopher Eccleston. The time it took to publish this chapter is a case in point.

C.C.: -huffs-

**The Sunday Wife: **I was tempted to keep Erik for myself in that chapter, but as I've said before, two Eriks madly in love with me is too many.

_Muse!Erik:_ I feel sorry for the poor Erik that's dumb enough to. . .wait a moment.

_C.C.:_ -bats eyelashes-

**ghostwritten2:**Ghostie! You have officially become the first person to have reviewed every single chapter! I squee in you general direction!

_Muse!Erik:_ A review for every chapter with a day. You either have no life or possess even less sanity then my authoress. Either way I suggest you seek professional help.


	17. Enter the Doctor

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. If you haven't figured that out by now I suggest you seek professional help. . .Hey! You could end up in a straight jacket that matches mine! Yay for straight jacket twins!**_

Chapter 17: Enter the Doctor

"Do you have time for a chat with your favourite ghost?"

Christine leapt back, startled by the sudden appearance of the Authoress in her dormitory. "What are you doing here?" she stammered. "Someone could come in and see you at any moment."

C.C. resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Someone could come in, yes. But they certainly wouldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Visibility is hardly a relevant issue with me. Invisibility is one of the fun little perks of being an Opera Ghost, or had you forgotten?"

Christine's cheeks reddened and her gaze quickly fell to the floor. C.C. shot her a smile. "Hey, kid. Cheer up. I take a bit of getting used to is all. It's not like people start walking through your walls everyday. Hell, when I first met your Angel, he told me flat out that my existence was impossible."

Christine looked up sharply at the mention of her teacher. "Did he really?"

C.C. nodded. "He did indeed. He's a bit hard headed, that one." Christine hid a smile demurely beneath her hand, as if she was wary to be caught laughing at her Angel's expense. It was a gesture that annoyed the Authoress to no end.

"Oh, would you stop that! It's not like he doesn't have a sense of humour." She paused for a moment. "Well, I think he's got one. Anyway, I've said worse to his face." Christine's shock was almost comical.

"Have you?"

This time C.C. couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Yes, and you'll learn to as well." She paused again. "There's a lot you don't know about your Angel of Music. For instance, has he ever told you his name?"

Again the comic shock. "He has a name?"

"Of course he has a name. Don't you, Erik?"

The air seemed to still. The silence seemed to grow unbearably oppressive. Once again Christine donned her expression that was the prelude to fainting. C.C. sighed.

You," she snapped at Christine, "faint and I'll have your head." She turned on Erik. "And you," she yelled though the wall, "you're going the right way for a smack, you are! Get over yourself and talk. We haven't got all day. I've got chorus girls to terrorize yet."

"Christine. . ." Erik's tenor was hesitant, nearly inaudible through the thick dormitory wall. Christine straightened.

"Angel. . ."

Then they both began to talk at once.

"Christine, I. . ."

"Angel, what. . ."

"Christine, you don't. . ."

**Bullwinkle!** Shouted C.C.'s mental voice.

It was then that C.C. decided that: A) this was going to be harder than she initially thought, and B) that it was time to step in.

"Okay, you two." She said in her best "camp councillor"voice with her best cheesy smile pasted onto her face. "This only works if you take turns talking. Now, Erik, why don't you go first?"

Silence.

The Authoress's smile slipped.

"Now, Erik!"

That did the trick.

"Christine, Angel, there are so many things you don't know, that you couldn't know. There are so many things that I haven't told you."

"I don't understand, Angel. What are you talking about? Angel, what. . ."

"Say his name, Christine." C.C. cut in. Christine jumped.

"What?"

"Say his name." The Authoress repeated. "This entire conversation you haven't called him anything but Angel. You're in a bit of denial, sweetheart. You've got to let go of a few things."

Christine merely looked frightened and unsure. C.C. gave her the warmest smile she could muster. "Go on, kid. Talk to him. You've been doing it for years. There's no difference now. It's just a name."

"What's. . .what's going on. . .Erik?"

The Phantom's sigh was loud enough to be heard though the thick walling. "Do you trust me, Christine?" he asked finally.

"Of course." Her answer was immediate, the product of blind faith cultivated over half a lifetime.

"Maybe you shouldn't." His reply was so quite that the girls could barely hear it, but its impact was enormous. It was only five small syllables, but it was enough to turn Christine's world upside down and throw an infinitely large monkey wrench into the Authoress's master plans.

"Excuse us for a moment." she said to Christine before dashing through the wall.

"What do you thing you're doing?" she hissed at Erik, careful to keep her voice soft enough that Christine could not hear her. "I said _talk _to her. Not tear her whole world into teeny tiny little pieces!"

Erik's hands balled into tight fists at his sides. "I only said the truth." He snapped back. "Isn't that what you've been preaching at me to do?"

Clapping her hand on his forearm, C.C. forcibly held the Phantom's gaze. "Do you love her?"

"Of course." Erik replied brusquely.

"Have you ever done anything to hurt her?"

The answer was softer this time. "Never."

"Then she has every reason to trust you."

"All I've ever done is lie to her." Erik protested.

"All you've ever done," the Authoress insisted, "was tell her what she needed to hear." She took a deep breath as she tried to collect her thoughts. "When Christine was a child, she didn't need some strange, and lets face it, somewhat emotionally broken man to appear in her life. She needed an angel, so you gave her one. You created the fantasy that both of you needed to survive. But Christine's not a child anymore. She doesn't need an angel now. She's ready to give up the fantasy and grow up. The question is whether or not you're ready to give it up too."

Erik didn't answer, but in his silence there was relinquishment. With that silence the Angel of Music died and all that was left was a strange, slightly broken, but absolutely amazing man in the fallen angels place.

C.C.'s hand slipped lower on Erik's arm until she held his hand in hers. Lacing her fingers through his, she gave his hand a quick squeeze before slipping back through the wall into the ballet dormitory.

To her credit, Christine didn't jump as the Authoress emerged on her side of the wall, but it was clear that the day was taking its toll on the young soprano. She had the shaken look of someone who had survived a disaster of faith, the hollowed look of someone who was lost in every sense of the word. It was time for major damage control before all parties involved were lost beyond all hope of being found.

"Hey there." C.C. said gently as she dropped down onto the bed where Christine was sitting. She slid her arm around the younger girl's shoulder in the most reassuring gesture she could manage. "Are you gonna stop pouting before I get a lecture for making you unhappy and you get scolded from improper behaviour?" she teased.

Christine gave a slight smile. "The Opera Ghost gets lectured?"

C.C. smiled back. "All the time. I don't listen much, but for some reason Erik keeps giving them. He's quite determined, but I'm starting to question his grasp on reality." Turning towards the dormitory's single communal mirror she added, "You're improving, though. Aren't you, big guy?"

"Slowly but surely." Erik's voice was again soft, but it was marked with purpose and meaning.

This time Christine did jump. She looked nervously at the Authoress, no longer certain of the role she played in her little world of angels and phantoms. C.C. gave her another reassuring smile and nudged her towards the mirror. "Go look at your face in the mirror." She told the girl. "Look at your face and talk to him like he's right there on the other side."

Christine stood and walked to the old and dusty looking mirror. She started at her reflection for several seconds before speaking. "I don't understand, Angel. And I'm frightened." Another pause. "I know that I've never really understood much, but it's never frightened me. I'm frightened."

Another few seconds passed before Erik's reply could be heard through the wall. "Erik," he corrected. "My name is Erik. And you needn't be frightened, Christine. I'm still me and I'm still here. I'll always be here."

C.C. watched the smile on Christine's face boom into something radiant and spectacular and she had a sneaky feeling that the smile was mirrored by the man on the other side of the wall. She also had the feeling that her work was done for the day and every second longer she stayed in the room was a second she was intruding. As quietly and unostentatiously as possible she disappeared and slipped through a back wall.

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Later that evening C.C. sat on the swan bed, playing with her kitten, when Erik finally returned to the lair. Her head shot up and she scrutinized him carefully, looking for any signs of how his first encounter with Christine as Erik had gone. Immediately she broke into a grin.

"You're not dark and broody!" she called. "I guess that means she didn't kick you to the metaphorical curb!"

The look on Erik's face made C.C. giggle. Somehow he managed to look both wistful and annoyed. Not answering her, he walked into the alcove containing the organ. Soon after the sounds of the organ filtered through the lair. However the music was different from the music she had grown accustomed to hearing the big instrument produce. It was lighter, tentative, and laced with what she could only think of as hopefulness.

Her grin went from wide to near maniacal as she bounded after him into the alcove. Skidding to a halt mere feet before she slammed into Erik's back, she seated herself on a rock and watched him play with a goofy smile plastered on her face. It didn't matter that he wasn't paying her a whit of attention. It didn't matter that more walls had been built that day than torn down. All that mattered was that the first steps had been taken and that there was hope in Erik's music.

As far as C.C. was concerned she had the makings of a pretty good love doctor and that things would only get better from there.

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**A/N: Look! I finally put Erik and Christine in contact with each other! Yay for me! Yay for EC-ness! Yay for cutting down large trees with herring. . .oh, wait, that's whole different fandom. Anyway, we have now crossed the threshold into the world of EC phiction, it turns out I can keep my promises in respect to pairings even if the chapter turned out far more serious than I intended. Oh, and whoever gets the Bullwinkle reference wins ten minutes locked in my walk in closet with my muse, unsupervised. As always, I hope y'all enjoy.**

**Your most Humble and Obedient Servant,**

**SP**

_C.C.:_ Are you ready to reply to the reviews, Erik?

_Muse!Erik:_ If I say yes will you cease prostituting me to anyone with a knowledge of cult movies and theatre?

_C.C.:_ No, but if you say no I'll release that video of you sloshed at my mum's Christmas party.

_Muse!Erik:_ Are you black mailing me?

_C.C.: _Yep. With you around I learned from the best.

**Bek:** As always, thank you for the kind words. And as for feeding Erik, he can feed himself, thank you very much.

_Muse!Erik:_ -purrs- Yes, but I much prefer it when you do it. Especially when it involves chocolate.

_C.C.:_ How come you're only sexy and flirtatious when it involves chocolate?

**PMEL:** Honestly, must you keep boosting my muses ego like that? I have a hard enough time dragging him away from the female population at large long enough to serve as inspiration.

Muse!Erik: It's neither my nor their fault that you decided you wanted a muse who doubles as a sex symbol.

_C.C.: _Damn you and your infallible logic.

**MTL:** Brilliant? I have no idea how I'm going to live up to these standards you keep setting, but I guess I'll have to try.

_Muse!Erik:_ You live up to nothing, my dear. I live up to your standards for you. You just sit at your computer and punch in any bits of inspiration I choose to give you.

_C.C.:_ You're just cranky because I won't hand feed you chocolate, aren't you?

**Trier1974:** Thank you. It's always great to get support from more experienced writers.

_Muse!Erik:_ That's not saying much. The average field mouse is a better writer.

_C.C.:_ That's it! No mare Jaffa Cakes for you!

**Cassiopeia Lily:** How come none of my reviewers ever offer me baked good or gooey waffles?

_Muse!Erik:_ Because I am far more attractive and desirable. Besides, your metabolism is nowhere near fast enough to handle my diet.

_C.C.:_ -glares-

**Pawfoot:** There's spell check now? -joins in the I'm-A-Psychotic-Idiot-Dance-

_Muse!Erik:_ Tell me again why I associate with either of you?


	18. Curiosity and Its Casualties

A/N: As always, I'm sorry for the atrociously long delay.

Muse!Erik: -glances at horde of angry readers- They're going to kill you. You realize this, don't you?

C.C.: -panicked look towards the horde- Um. . .I love you? -holds up a huge chocolate cake as a buffer- My computer was stolen at a café last month and I had to put Tale on hold until I could get it replaced.

Anyway, the Bullwinkle reference was a badly done shout out to the Rocky Horror Show. It's a line that the audience shouts during a scene of the play/movie where the characters are repeating each other's names.

Oh, and I apologize to all my EC readers in advance. You'll see what I mean. As always I hope y'all enjoy.

You Most Humble and Obedient Servant,

S.P.

_Disclaimer: Whoever said that money was the root of all evil had yet to encounter the copyright for Phantom. I don't own Erik. If that's not evil, I don't know what is._

**Chapter 18: Curiosity and Its Casualties**

It is a well-known fact throughout the world that curiosity is quite perilous to felines. It is a well known fact throughout the Paris Opera House that it is also detrimental to the health of ballet rats, musicians, chorus girls, prima donnas, protégées, and particularly stage hands. However, the world had yet to discover the devastating effects curiosity could reap on time travellers and opera ghosts.

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"Erik, what does this lever do?"

"Don't touch that!" Erik snapped as he turned to see his house mate eyeing a cast iron lever he thought had been cleverly disguised as a torch rest.

"Why not?" C.C. asked, taken aback by the Phantom's almost panicked tone.

"Because I said so. You are never to touch that lever nor any other like it!"

'Because I said so.' had never been a good reason for the Authoress. As a child it had annoyed her to no end, as a young adult it drove her to defiance. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't pull it right this instant." She demanded, placing her hand threateningly on the iron structure.

"Because it will release the trap door we are both standing on, sending us both to our almost certain deaths."

C.C.'s hand shot back form the lever as though it had suddenly grown fangs and bitten her. "Oh."

Awkward silence followed as she glanced sheepishly between the floor, the lever, and the Phantom. "I guess I'll add 'Pulling Strange Levers' to my list of things never, ever to do during my stay." she said, shooting him a look that begged forgiveness in the sickeningly adorable way that only cute young girls can manage.

"That would be wise." Erik offered, pretending to be completely unmoved by her nearly nauseating display of cuteness.

"Good, now that we've got that settled, which way is it to the manager's office?"

Erik looked at her suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm in dire need of paper clips and thought that would be logical place to pilfer office supplies." Erik gave her a quizzical look, causing the Authoress to roll her eyes. "Documents." she said simply. "I'm, _we're _on a time line here and I need to get some studying done. You know, I need to dig up some dirt, memorize a few time lines and schedules, take notes on interesting facts and figures that can be squirrelled away for future use. In case you haven't noticed it's gotten rather late, and if there's one thing I've noticed about the current management, M. Lefevre seems to leave rather early," she smiled wryly, "perhaps from fear of meeting a ghost. Now is the perfect time to breaking into your well trained little monkey of a manager's office."

It didn't take a genius to see the logic in the girl's plan, and since Erik was, in fact, a genius, he saw no problem leading her to the management office as long as he stayed near her side to prevent the mishaps and minor disasters that seemed to constantly occur in her presence.

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"It's amazing what you can learn from comic books!" C.C. beamed with pride as she opened what had moments before been a securely locked filing cabinet.

Erik squinted his eyes at her, trying to decipher how the girl had navigated the lock. He had watched her take a small can from the black bag she had taken to carrying around, fit it with a straw of some sort, spray the contents of the can into the lock's key hole, and then use a pin from her hair to turn the lock without any effort or positioning. The Authoress tossed him a quick grin. She knew full well that curiosity was killing him, but he was far too proud to ask her how she had managed the feat.

"Graphite," she explained as she held up the can, "it's in a pressurized can that can spray the metal into the lock, then it's weight pressed down the tumblers, allowing the lock to be turned with pretty much any slim little object you happen to have on you. It won't work on cars, deadbolts, or any other of the more complicated locks, but there don't seem to be a lot of those in this delightful little period in history."

Erik's scrutiny continued. "And just where did you learn this little trick? You hardly strike me as a criminal mastermind, my dear."

C.C. blushed a little as she confessed the well-guarded truth of her secret nerdom and how it had led to her lock picking skills. "I already told you, I learned it from a comic book, _The Adventures of Spider Boy_, I think, but that's not important." She hefted a leather bound logbook from the drawer. "This is."

Flipping to the last entry in the book she read the words printed neatly in the flowing script.

27 February, 1881

Othello has been well received on its opening night upon the stages of the Populaire, the performance saw only the flaws inherent to any live art form. The third lamp from stage left refused to light during the entirety of the performance. I shall send someone down to inspect the lamp's piping first thing tomorrow. It is a well-know fact that a leaking gas pipe can be hazardous, indeed. As to the performance itself, I saw only a successful show, but it is not MY opinion that matters when it comes to the success or failure of the performers, it has not mattered for quite some time now. It is odd. I seem to matter very little in the grand design things here, yet despite my apparent pointlessness, the doctors insist that it is the stress of my job that plagues my stomach so. Perhaps I should reconsider their suggestions and look into retiring. There have been plenty of offers from the more. . .less informed members of society. I rather pity the man who will step up to take my place.

C.C. nearly dropped the ledger. "Erik?" she asked, her voice taking on a hint of hysteria. "You have this season's productions memorized, correct?"

Erik nodded slowly. The Authoress gnawed delicately on her lower lip, afraid to ask the question that needed asking. "What opera is scheduled after Othello?"

Erik answered without hesitation. "Hannibal, it's a relatively new work, but the lead is practically tailored for Christine's voice, I think. . ."

He seemed to show no reaction to the fatal opera's name. Apparently when he turned to his music to "forget the horror" of something, it was an unbelievably effective mental block. However, the three syllable utterance was enough to send the Authoress into a full scale panic.

"Erik!" she cut him off, ignoring the glare he shot her. "Think! Think about what you just said! Remember the movie!" After a moment realization flooded Erik's face. "Yeah," C.C. confirmed, "Hannibal equals lots and lots of bad. Well, it actually equalled lots of good until the fop showed up and you decided to employ My Size Barbie Christine in your seduction plan."

If any passing stranger had glanced upon Erik's face in that moment they would have described look spread across his features as absent-mindedness, perhaps even boredom. However, C.C. was not a passing stranger. She recognized the look on Erik's face for what it was: the calm before the storm. The wheels in the Phantom's genius mind were turning with a speed most human minds could not begin to aspire to. He briefly shut out the outside world as his brain pieced together facts and figures to draw out brilliantly extreme conclusions and possibilities.

C.C. realized she had to act fast. If Erik was allowed to formulate a plan things would probably end very badly for everyone involved. It was a well known that once Erik decided on a plan of action, come Hell or high water, he would see the plan through to the end. It was also a well-known fact Erik's plans, especially those involving Christine, tended to be rash and misguided, making the situation worse than it had been to begin with. And, unfortunately, any physicist could tell you that it was a well-known fact that the universe strives to correct itself. The universe was striving for the story to end with disaster and a broken hearted Phantom. All these facts shot through C.C.'s head as she allowed raw instinct and panic to use whatever means deemed necessary to deviate the Phantom from his plotting.

A resounding slap echoed through the manager's office.

C.C. gaped in horror and stared at her stinging hand, horrified at what the appendage had done of what was surely its own free will. Certainly she would never have had the gall to strike the Phantom. For his part, Erik seemed to stunned to respond. He had been struck more times in his life than he would ever care to recall, but never like that. Normally, the blow would have driven him into a rage, but in that moment he was too shocked to react.

Finally, after several moments of her staring at her hand and he staring at the Authoress without really seeing her, he spoke. "What the devil was that?" Instead of the bark or snap she had expected, the question was one of pure and honest puzzlement. It was as though he had just experienced something nearly beyond believability and wanted to be reassured of its reality.

"I'm not sure." C.C. answered truthfully. "I'd say my hand was possessed by the devil, but I'm pretty sure that only happens to Seth Green characters." She paused for a moment, finally gaining the strength to look Erik in the face. She winced as her eyes took in the quickly reddening mark on his uncovered cheek. "I'm sorry, it, um, uh, it won't happen again." she finished dumbly.

Erik scrutinized her for a minute longer. "It better not." C.C. grinned at the touch of malice that had reentered his voice. Malice is not normally a thing to grin at, but she was a phan, after all.

Suddenly C.C. perked up and grabbed Erik by the hand, her previous awkwardness instantly forgotten. "Come on, let's go to the stage!" She commanded, dragging him towards the door. Erik resisted.

"Why?"

"Because I want to." It was a perfectly good reason to her. "Now come on, come on, come on!" She was nearly bouncing up and down in her excitement to get to the opera's expansive stage, despite her lack of a reason and the number of times she had visited it before. Relenting, Erik allowed himself to be drug out of the manager's office.

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C.C. was able to think best when she was moving. Her best friend often joked that her best speeches and essays had been written either while in ballet rehearsal or while jumping his horse. Perhaps that was why she was struck by the sudden urge for movement. Certainly now was a time she needed to think, and there was no better place to move than on the floor of a grand stage.

As soon as they reached the stage, C.C. dropped her bag and Erik's hand and sprinted off towards it. As soon as her feet touched its smooth surface she threw herself forward in a tumble and landed into the splits. Her muscles vaguely protested such movements without previous stretching, but she ignored them, too caught up in the rush that came of freely flinging herself about.

Leaping up from the floor, she lifted herself onto the balls of her feet and began running through some simple dance exercises to whatever music chose to run through her head. Her thoughts began to clear as she twirled about the stage. Her story was fast approaching a critical point. Certain precautions would have to start being taken, certain lessons would soon have to be taught. She cast a glance at Erik. Ever the Phantom, he was hidden deeply in the shadows at the wings, barely visible. C.C. took a deep breath. A critical point was approaching and it was time to take the ghost out of the shadows and bring a gentleman into the light.

Erik started as the Authoress grabbed his hand and used it to twirl herself into his chest. She looked up at him and beamed. "Monsieur, might I have the pleasure of this dance?"

When Erik only frowned in reply, she stepped away from him. Keeping his hand in hers, she grabbed the hem of her skirt and half bowed in the starting position of several classical dances. "Please, Erik," she begged prettily, "dance with me."

"I don't dance." He stated flatly, but she would not be deterred.

"A gentleman never denies a lady a dance."

"Then it's a good thing that I am no gentleman and you are no lady."

"There's a coat of arms on my father's mantel that begs to differ in my case. And as for you," she paused for dramatic effect, "you will be by the time I'm done with you. Now, you're out of excuses, so let's dance."

Erik still didn't respond to her tugs on his arm, but instead of the arrogance of the moment before, he was staring hard at the floor, his brow creased like a shy child.

"I can't."

C.C. stopped tugging on his arm for the moment. "What was that?"

"I can't dance." He elaborated.

She threw a smile at him that managed to be both sweet and wry. "Ah, the truth of the matter comes out at last." She took a step closer to him and gently knocked his chin up with the back of her hand so he was forced to meet her gaze. "Chin up, big guy, no one was born with their feet on the dance floor. You're just gonna have to learn like everybody else." This time he didn't resist as she led him onto the stage.

Once firmly on the stage, she began to walk him through the starting position of a simple three step waltz. "In this hand," she grabbed his right, "you'll hold my hand in yours. And then you'll place your other hand on my waist. No, just here," she corrected," I have to enough room to lift the hem of the gown I'd be wearing from the floor. That's good. Now we can get started. I'll lead you for the while, but once you get the hang of it, I want you to take over. You got that?" He nodded in the affirmative. "Good, lets go."

C.C. began to sing the beats with a practised precision as she attempted to push the Phantom across the floor. She occasionally paused for corrections, but was careful not interrupt the count. "1,2,3. . .1,2.3. . .loosen up, 2, 3 . . ."

Sadly for the Authoress' poor feet, Erik's first dance was not the whirlwind fantasy that many phanphics make it out to be. However, the steps soon became familiar enough to give him confidence enough to take the lead. He absentmindedly tapped the beat against her waist as he voiced the thought that had been weighing on his mind for the past several minutes.

"You never told me you sang."

C.C. stopped counting as the words hit her. Without her singing the beat, Erik stopped moving. The dance was effectively ended, but neither broke from their position, their right hands were still entwined and his left still rested on her waist. They simply stood there for a moment before she responded.

"Well, my mother _was _an opera singer, I know I've mentioned that. It only makes sense that I'd pick up a thing or two."

"You have a lovely voice."

C.C. blushed, with her mother's voice to compare her to, people rarely complemented her ability. "It's not as good as my mum's though."

He placed a hand under her chin and brought her gaze up to his, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "It could be. I could teach you."

"No." Hurt flashed across Erik's face for a barest fraction of a second, before a cold steeliness began to creep into his eyes. In a desperate attempt to stop his fact approaching anger, C.C. grabbed his hand and held it in place against her cheek before it could drop as she attempted to explain herself.

"There's nothing in the world I could ever want more than to have you teach me, but I can't." Erik only looked puzzled as she tried to explain something she didn't understand herself. "I. . .There's some fundamental thing that changes in people when you teach them. Don't ask me to explain it, but every phan knows it's true. I mean, just your presence is nearly overpowering, but when you teach. . .it. . .things. . .you just kind of take over. And I can't let that happen. I can't," she took a breath and stared deeply into eyes, "I can't fall in love with you."

Of all the things Erik had been expecting her to say, that had not been one of them. The words had struck a cord in a little used part of his heart, and he suddenly found himself acting on instincts he had never felt before. The hand that had lightly rested on her waist moved to her low back as he closed the distance between them.

C.C. was a big girl. She knew what was happening and that she should stop it, but her mental voice's screams of protest were silenced as his grip on her cheek tightened and he raised her face closer to his. She closed her eyes and her lips parted gently in anticipation. She could feel his breath on her lips when suddenly. . .

. . .BANG!

Erik and C.C. jumped apart as a crash broke whatever spell they had been foolish enough to weave. The two masked figures turned in unison to see what had caused the interruption they were both blessing and cursing.

Their eyes met with a rather stunned Madame Giry, her now extinguished candlestick rolling to a stop on the ground.

"It was CPR lessons!" C.C. nearly shouted the first thought that passed through her guilt-ridden mind. The outburst, however nonsensical, seemed to give Mme. Giry her strength back. Her back straightened and her expression turned from a look of utter shock to a stern gaze that demanded answers. C.C. swallowed hard. This was not how she had planned to make her first impression on the ballet mistress. In an attempt to find her senses, she turned to Erik and began trying to string words together in a logical order.

"Erik. . uh. . you go and play with your organ. . .Oh, god! Gutter! I mean, go play music. Or, no. You know what, go watch Christine sleep! I have to see about un-ringing a bell." When he did not move she became more sure minded and authoritative. "You! Go! Atone! Now!" she snapped.

Erik hastened to obey. With a quick flash of swirling cloak he was gone, leaving the young theatre haunt to face the weighty gaze of the opera house's elder Giry. Drawing a pattern on the floor with her toe, she looked up at the older woman and gave her a shamefaced smile.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Madame Giry. I'm one of your biggest fans." She chewed her lip nervously before continuing. "I bet you have some questions you'd like to ask, right?"

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**A/N: Sorry again to all you EC shippers, I just had to get that out of my system before I could start focussing on the relationship y'all _really _want to readabout. Don't worry though, the next chapter will further _that _relationship. Anyway, on to the replies. I know that's the only reason you're skimming through this A/N.**

Muse!Erik: Must we return to this degrading practice?

C.C.: Yes, you've had a good long holiday. Now, buck up and flirt with my readers, assuming I have any left.

**Bek:** Sorry, hun, that was definitely the wrong Bullwinkle, but you're a special case. If you want some time with my muse, I can have him on a trans-Pacific flight by sundown. I would have thought your own muse would have burst through that cabinet by now, though.

_Muse!Erik:_ For his sake I hope he stays in the cupboard. After meeting your brother I'd choose a blissful state of nonexistence any day.

**Trier1974:** I assure you that your flattery is misplaced, but if you insist on giving it anyway. . .-revels-

_Muse!Erik: _Must you continue complimenting her? **I **assure you that this household has room enough for only one big ego, and that would be mine.

**Cassiopeia Lily:** I guess this long period between updates means no fudge for Erik and I, huh?

_Muse!Erik:_ So now I'm being punished for some petty thief's crime as I have been innocently blamed for the crimes of so many others?

_C.C.: _Innocent? Ha! Remind me again, which one of us was too busy enjoying a latte to punjab the creep who ran right past them, clutching my computer?

**Just Plain Insane:** I suggest you thoroughly punjab that pesky Voice of Reason. All they do is ruin your fun and give to depressed urges to do strange things like clean and bake things you don't actually want to eat.

_Muse!Erik:_ For once I agree fully. All reason is is a ridiculous code of conduct ingrained by a brainwashing traditionalist society intent on forcing abstract thinking into extinction.

_C.C.:_ Ah, you're just upset that your therapist said that rationalizing yourself loudly and in the third person didn't count as a moral compass.

_Muse!Erik:_ Erik cannot help what the world makes him do!

**PMEL:** I pushed, but apparently it was in the wrong direction. Oh well, at least I now know from personal experience that he has the will, now all I need is to get the girl. . .or possibly some scented candles and a warm tow-

_Muse!Erik:_ Before you finish that sentence, allow me to remind you that your very young niece is reading this phic. I'm rather sure your brother would like to keep her. . .education limited at the moment.

_C.C.:_ Oh, right. I keep forgetting that. Oh well, little Anna is going to be banned from reading the new phic I'm working on. ;-)

**Pawfoot:** When has a lack of skills ever stopped any EC-shipper from a happy dance?

_Muse!Erik:_ Never, but on occasion I wish it would.


	19. Impatience Is a Virtue

**A/N: Okay, not my speediest update, but much faster than the last one, no? As always, I hope y'all enjoy.**

**Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,**

**S.P.**

_Disclaimer: I begged ol' Andy for the rights to Phantom. He threw a lawyer at me. If you've never had seventeen and a half stones of soulless litigator hurled at your head, I don't suggest it._

Chapter 19 Impatience Is a Virtue. . .Or Something Like That

Erik turned down a maze of passage ways until he stood behind the tiny dormitory mirror. He hadn't actually meant to come to the room Christine shared with the other members of the corps, but the young Authoress had planted the idea in his mind and his feet and subconscious did the rest. Before he knew it, he had, indeed, gone to watch Christine sleep. Out of habit, he began to sing an old Polish lullaby he had learned as a child. He was careful to throw his voice so that it only reached Christine and not the other slumbering dancers.

_Kolibka z marmooroo, _

_Pielushki zrabechku, lulie aniowedgku. _

_Chervone yagody spadayo dow vody,_

_Yuzem pshekonany, Ze nie mam urody_

_Hotch urody nie mam, _

_Myuntku nieviele,_

_E tak vas nie prosche, _

_O neets pshayiachele._

Christine stirred slightly in her sleep. In time past her subconscious mind would have registered her Angel's voice and, with the comforting image of him singing to her from heaven, drifted deeper into sleep. However, this was not times past and, instead of images of angels, the memory of recent conversations rose in her subconscious, wrenching her out of her peaceful slumber.

"Erik?" she called softly.

The last note of the song was abruptly cut short by Erik's sharp intake of breath. After taking a moment to compose himself, he answered. "Yes, Christine, I'm here."

Christine stretched and stifled a yawn, trying to dispel the last bits of sleep from her only half awake mind. Before speaking again, her gaze wandered from the ceiling to the mirror, unsure which is should address. When speaking to her angel, she had always directed her side of the conversation heavenward, but now she was never sure where to speak. Finally she settled on the mirror. There was something she had been meaning to say.

"Thank you."

Erik knitted his brow in confusion. "For what, Christine?"

"For everything. You've always known everything I've wanted and seen that I've gotten it." She paused for a moment, struggling again to find the right words. Finally she let them out in a verbal rush, as if afraid to lose her courage. "It's simply that I've never done anything in return. When you were the Angel of Music, it made sense that you asked for nothing in return. You were doing your job, but last time we spoke you claimed that you had been only an admirer and knew no other way to approach me for lessons. I don't deserve this. I owe you everything, but you've asked for nothing."

"Your voice is all I need, Angel. From the first time I heard you singing that hymn to your father, I knew that I would find no greater pleasure in this life than to mould your voice into the perfect instrument for my music." His reply was safe, predictable, and the absolute worst thing to say to the woman you love. Had the Authoress been there, it would have earned him a sound smack. One does not tell the love of your life that they're merely a tool for one's art. However, Christine was, quite luckily, either used to such comments or too deep in thought to truly listen.

"Erik. . .Angel, might I. . .might I thank you personally?"

Erik balked. Apparently the realisation that he lacked the ability to desert her in favour of heaven or more deserving students had emboldened her, allowed her to reapproach door Erik thought had long been shut.

"I'm afraid you've asked me to do the one thing in my power I cannot do for you, my dear." His voice was soft, but firm. It would have stopped most people in an instant, but Christine was too far into her fantasy of meeting her mysterious Angel to notice.

"But, Erik," she insisted, "surely you have some kind of magic! I know you do! If you can speak to only me and be at my side when all my senses say I am alone, then you must have other magic, like the Phantom. If she can walk through walls then why can't you do the same for me?"

"Christine," he said in warning, ice slipping into tone, "I thought I warned you never to ask that again. You know very well that I cannot appear to you, not as an angel, man, monster, or otherwise."

"But--"

"No!" Erik nearly shouted the word. Forgetting to check himself, he had allowed his voice to raise to a level that was sure to wake one of the sleeping ballerinas. Sure enough it did.

"Christine," called the sleep drugged voice of a young girl, "was that you?"

"It was nothing, Cecily, I simply had a nightmare," Christine assured the girl. "Go back to sleep."

Erik knew the conversation was done, even if it was not ended on the terms he would have preferred. With an angry swirl of his cape, (which surely would have turned the Authoress into a heap of drooling goo,) he stormed off down the passage way toward his lair.

Meanwhile, back on the stage, C.C. was having a battle of her own.

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"Before we get started, let me just say that I'm _such _a big fan," C.C. gushed. "Even if you did take the place of Mama Valérius and the Persian, you are awesome personified! I . . ." Suddenly realising that she was acting like a gushing fan girl, the Authoress shut her mouth forcefully, a heavy blush staining her cheeks.

Madame Giry found her strength in the girl's awkwardness. After all, dealing with awkward young girls was part of her job description. With a sharp sound, the heel of her shoe connected with the stage floor, making a fitting substitute for a rap of her signature cane. C.C. nearly jumped a foot in the air, as was the intended effect.

"And just who might you be?" Madam Giry asked.

C.C. looked up with a self-conscious smile. "Uh. . .the Phantom of the Opera?" she tried.

Madame Giry arched an eyebrow in what reminded C.C. of a sterner- and far less sexy- version of Erik. "Try again, mademoiselle. I happen to be acquainted with the Opera Ghost, and we both know very well that he just left," she paused and looked pointedly at the young Authoress, "at _your _request."

Frowning, C.C. recovered a bit of her spark and dared to look the ballet mistress in the eye. "No, that was the former Phantom, he's retired. Erik's thinking about starting a family and thought it was time to for him to give up position."

Madame Giry's pointed look refused to soften. "There is but one ghost in this opera house. I placed him here myself and I assure you that he has no intention leaving."

"So, he and Christine are supposed to set a cosy nursery and play house in the catacombs?" C.C. countered.

The pointed look turned into an outright glare. "And what does Christine have to do with any of this?"

C.C. fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, she _is _the love of his life. Who else would settle down with?"

"Judging what I witnessed a moment before. . ." Madame Giry let the statement hang.

The Authoress flushed deeply, remembering her previous actions and near-actions. "It's Susan Kay's fault!" She blurted.

"Excuse me." That hadn't been the answer Madame Giry had been expecting, but then, neither had any of the girl's other answers.

"It's Susan Kay's fault," C.C. repeated. "She wrote her Erik with more sensuality and animal magnetism then should be legal-or possible, for that matter- and it started a chain reaction. Kay's Erik inspired Hugh, Hugh was Gerry's Erik, so that inspired him. And therefore it's her fault that he's more irresistible than MC to the power of chocolate!"

"Are you well?" Madame Giry asked, carefully scrutinising the young Authoress.

"Not a day in my life," C.C. answered quickly, "but that doesn't change the fact that Christine's Erik's only ticket out of here. You know it and I know it." Her tone darkened slightly. "It might have been you at one point, but you chose the safe route and got married. Now it's up to Christine. Guys like Erik don't get a third chance, no matter what the Other Woman writers say. Considering how his life's gone so far, I'd say he deserves a little happiness, don't you think?"

The ballet mistress seemed to age ten years in the same number of seconds. Guilt and resignation played across her face. "Yes, he does, but I worry for Christine. I don't want her to get hurt."

C.C. sighed. "The girl's got to grow up sometime. That means there's gonna be a little pain, but it's worth it. Did you love your husband?"

Madame Giry looked startled, but nodded.

"And was it worth the pain?"

"Excuse me?"

"Was loving him worth the pain of losing him? If you were given the chance to do it all over again, would you still marry him, knowing that your bliss would be short lived?"

"Yes," Madame Giry answered softly.

"So loving him was worth the pain?"

"I said it was."

"Doesn't Christine deserve the chance to draw the same conclusions?"

Again, Madame Giry nodded. "Yes, she does, but I just don't see how it can possibly work. I have hoped for so long that she would grow to become his salvation, but I only see him dragging her farther into his world. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I had never found her."

"Hey," C.C. called softly, "I'm taking care of that. All that he needs is to be reminded he's human. And all she needs is to realise that she's not a child. In fact, I've already employed your daughter to my cause, even if she doesn't know it yet. She thinks I'm a ghost and I've filled her head with romantic notions of ghosts and angels, but she's got a good heart and she's a valuable asset."

"You've spoked with my Meg?"

"Yes, she's a sweet girl. You've done a good job with her." C.C. watched Madame Giry's obvious pride at the mention of her daughter. She was a good mother, a trait that would misguidedly lead to Erik's downfall if fate was allowed to keep its course. The Authoress walked over to the ballet mistress.

"So, can I count you on my side?" She held out her hand. Madame Giry grabbed it in a quick, but firm shake.

"Of course."

"Good." A telltale devious smile crept onto the Authoress's face. "And lets keep this little chat just between us. If it gets out I just might have to let it slip to your daughter that the Phantom of the Opera used to lace your corsets."

The shock on Madame Giry's face was comical. With a grin, C.C. dropped her hand and dashed off toward the wings. However, she stopped dead just before she reached the second leg. Turning back she added in a deadly serious tone, "I know this doesn't mean anything to you yet, but it you _ever _so much as _think _of betraying Erik to a young man named Raoul de Chaney, no matter what the reason, I will personally see to it that it haunts you for the rest of your life."

With that she disappeared behind the curtain, rushing as fast as she could towards the lair. She suddenly felt the need to be with Erik, if nothing else than just to prove that he was still there and that fate had not yet caught up to him.

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"For the love of Hugh! What was . . ."

C.C. dodged a second vase as it shattered on the rock beside her. That made two glass objects she had had to dodge in the fewer than thirty seconds she had been in the lair.

Judging by the way that Erik was destroying his home, things obviously hadn't gone well with Christine.

**I guess you owe your best friend an apology.**

'_What?'_

If her mental voice could have rolled its eyes, it surely would have. **Remember that argument you had with Rudolf last week about what the Phantom story was really about. **C.C. did remember. She had claimed it was both the greatest love story and tragedy of the modern world. He had disagreed.

'_Just because Erik's getting a tad emotional doesn't mean that Phantom's about nothing more than--'_

**A very, very, sexually frustrated guy in a mask. Yes, it does.**

'_No, it does--' _C.C.'s thought was cut shot as the shattering of yet another piece of glasswork caused her to shriek. The sound of the startled Authoress made Erik stop abruptly and stare at her in shock. It was as though he hadn't seen her, which he probably hadn't despite the fact that he had nearly hit her in the head with both a vase and decanter. C.C. took this momentary pause as a chance to read Erik the riot act.

"Are you quite done?" She snapped angrily at him. "For the love of all things canon, I am not about to put up with anyone throwing objects that are, or have the potential to become, sharp and pointy in my general direction! I don't care a whit who you are, am I understood?"

Erik's gaze grew stormy and he was about to snap angrily back when he caught her eye. There was something in her gaze, the unnamed something common to all mothers and childcare workers, that demanded total obedience. He nodded in response to her question.

"Good. Now, I'm going into the kitchen-assuming there's anything left of it- and I'm going to make dinner. I happen to be famished. When I come back out, I want all of the glass off the floor and I want you to have started cleaning the rest of this mess up. You don't have to tell me what happened. I hope you will, but I'm not going to force you. Now get to work. Do I make myself clear, Erik?"

He nodded again.

Twenty minutes later the liar was beginning to resemble a livable space once again and C.C. and her Phantom sat at the table, staring a bit awkwardly at their plates. Strangely, Erik was the first to break the silence.

"How was your conversation with Madam Giry?"

C.C. looked up. "More fun than a barrel of crack addicted monkeys! I think we had a real bonding experience." She said brightly. Then she grew serious. "Are you ready to talk about how your visit with Christine went? I'm guessing from the way you were acting that you went to see her and it didn't exactly go as planned."

Erik sighed deeply. "She asked to see me."

"And?" C.C. prompted, then off Erik's puzzled look, "I'm sure she's asked to see you before without you flying off the handle. You're not telling me the whole story."

Erik related the events that had happened in the dormitory. C.C.'s frown deepened with each moment, but said nothing until he was done. When she was certain he was done, she looked him straight in the eye.

"You were right that it wasn't the right time for her to see you, but you still made a sodding mess of things." He looked up sharply, caught off guard by her almost tired sounding cursing, but she ignored him and continued. "First off, I never, and I do mean never, want to hear that you've told her that you want her for her voice. A girl needs to know that you want her for her, not because she's a tool for your music. That would make her no different from a flute or a piece of staff paper."

Erik tried to protest, but she cut him off. "I'm not done yet. The girl wants to be told she's loved. That's all any girl wants. Do you understand me, Erik? She needs to be _told_. A girl like Christine will bond deeply and instantly to someone who tells her they love her. You have to make sure you do it before someone else does. If someone else tells her, especially that damned Vicomte, before you do, she's _going _to bond to them, despite what she, you, or anyone else feels. Secondly, she's still a child. She hasn't figured out what she feels yet. The last thing that needs to happen is for you to do something that pushes those feelings in a direction neither of us want. That means no raging, no shouting, nothing that will frighten her. Keep. Your. Temper. In. Control."

The air was thick and heavy with thoughts and slowly dawning realisations. Suddenly, C.C. perked up.

"Who's up for a game of Twister?"

Erik looked up at her, justifiably suspicious. "What's Twister?"

C.C. tried to hide and devious smile.

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**A/N:**

**The song Erik sings is a traditional Polish lullaby. My mother used to sing it to me. I thought the lyrics were fitting, that is, if my translation is correct. To the best of my knowledge, the translation of the lyrics is as follows:**

No cradle of marble,

No pillows of lace for you, my darling.

Splashing in the water, fall the red berries.

You, my little child, you make me so merry.

Though I own few things,

I¹ll not ever need more,

I have you my darling

You are what I¹ve prayed for.

**Another, rather serious chapter, but it was necessary to get a few more of my pesky water fowl arranged in a direct procession. The next chapter will be a bit more fun. Othello is in it's last few days and rehearsals are starting for the next production. What new surprises are in store for our reluctant hero and slightly bipolar heroine? Tune in next week and find out. Now, to the reviews. This chapter we're doing things a bit differently. My beta and I traded Eriks for a while, so I'd like everyone to give a warm welcome for Charles Dance!Erik from the 1990 miniseries. **

_Dance!Erik:_ Good evening.

_C.C.:_ Let's get started. Feel free to be brash, Erik, dear. My Erik always is. My reviewers are used to it.

_Dance!Erik: _Now, why would I do that. They're doing you a kindness by reviewing to your work.

_C.C.: _-to reviewers- Isn't he the sweetest thing?

**Trier1974:** Thank you again for your always supportive reviews. I'm particularly proud of the "My Size Barbie" line. I had to think of that one without the help of my muse, he objected strongly to its use. I'm beginning to think he's got a Christine doll of his own stashed somewhere.

_Dance!Erik:_ The use of a doll is no laughing matter. It can be highly symbolic.

_C.C.:_ You would say that, wouldn't you.

**Just Plain Insane: **Isn't Leroux!Erik a god among Eriks? I seriously thought about having a Lerouxy Erik as my muse, but then remembered that I didn't want a must that was that much smarter than me or quite that homicidal. I had to settle for a custom Erik with a few Leroux characteristics thrown in.

_Dance!Erik:_ I don't understand your objections to Leroux Erik's actions, Authoress. He has assured me he was simply prepared to defend himself from an assault form above. Such a thing is not entirely unexpected.

_C.C.:_ -snorts- What novel were _you _reading?

**aragornnme: **Ooo! New reader! Yay! . . .ehem, sorry, I love new sources of validation. lol I'm a bit of a review whore.

_Dance!Erik:_ Such language for one with such a proper upbringing.

_C.C.: _Ha! My mum was a good girl, but my dad was a sailor, you haven't heard anything yet.

**PMEL: **Oh, look. You made my Dance!Erik blush. . .not that that's a particularly hard thing to do. Anyway, don't worry, I have a smut chapter or two written, they're just waiting to come into play. I believe my exact reaction to Erik and Christine's activities is to shout "Erik! I have to sleep in that bed!" -wink-

_Dance!Erik_: Oh, my. Surely Christine would not participate in such activities before marriage. She's a good girl.

_C.C.: _-sighs- This is why I don't let you read the phics in the M section.

**Cassiopeia Lily:** Was this fast enough to earn chocolate? I really need it. -pitiful face-_Dance!Erik:_ Are the brownies I've been making not sufficient?

_C.C.: _They're wonderful, dear, but these are reviewer brownies. They're different.

**Pawfoot:** There's E/C in this one. . .really, really angsty E/C with no fluff, but I'm getting closer. I promise!

_Dance!Erik:_ I waited my entire life to be looked upon by an angel, surely you can wait a few more chapters for your gratification.

**Sunday:** I'm glad my humour can last through more than one read. It was made all the more readable by your fabulous betaing.

_Dance!Erik:_ How are the others? Creating mischief, as always, I suppose.

**Bek:** I couldn't help myself! Oh, and, HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!

_Dance!Erik: _I don't understand your obsession with this Panaro fellow. His clothing is atrocious! Horrid patterns! Leather trousers! His shirts always improperly buttoned and hanging half open.

_C.C.:_ -goes glassy eyed and drools- Yeah. . .


End file.
